Knife Going In
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Blaine put the past behind him, telling Kurt to have the courage he couldn't. But the worst happened anyway, and Kurt is left broken. Now Blaine has to pick up the pieces, but if he couldn't have the courage three years ago, how can he do it now? Klaine.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

That night, Kurt Hummel came into his dreams again, and this time, he didn't stop him.

He hated those dreams, hated them with a passion, but he loved them, all the same. Usually he stopped them, forcing himself to wake up so he could stare up at the dark ceiling in the safety of his bedroom, fire burning in his veins and a cold sweat soaking his skin.

But now he gave in, surrendering himself to the dreams usually he denied himself.

His dream self pushed Kurt up against the side of his car, his big hands cupping the other boy's small chin, and he kissed him, his chapped lips warm and insistent against his. Kurt moaned against his mouth, and the sound was devastating. He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth wider, running the tip of his tongue lightly against Kurt's lips, tasting the faint hint of peppermint gum and cherry chapstick.

He had spent so long pretending that Kurt didn't exist, and that his desire was just…some kind of cosmic misunderstanding, but this was amazing, too amazing for words. He'd made out with girls before, plenty of girls, kissing them sloppily at post-game parties and fumbling with their bra straps in the back of his car, but this was different. This was what he wanted.

He kept his lips against Kurt's, kissing him deeply, but his hands began to slide down his neck. His skin felt so smooth, ridiculously smooth. He slid his hands under the collar of Kurt's navy blazer and tugged it away from his thin arms. Kurt pressed his hands against his shoulders; his slender fingers gripped him tightly.

He could feel the slight curves of Kurt's body under his thin white dress shirt- the way his ribcage jutted out, the soft firm warmth of his sides, his sharply protruding shoulder blades. Kurt was so different from the girls he had made out with in the past, with their softness and no muscle, and so different from his own stocky, muscular body.

He grabbed Kurt's slim hips and lifted him up a little, balancing him against his knee and bracing the small of Kurt's back against his car. Their lips were still caught together and he kissed him fiercely, still tasting peppermint and cherry with the faintly warning undercurrent of whiskey. He started grinding against Kurt, their pelvises connecting, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through his body. Was this how he was supposed to feel? None of the girls he'd made out with had ever made him feel like this.

Kurt made a sharp whining sound, and he trailed his hands over his thin body again. This time he moved a little lower, fumbling with the waistband of Kurt's gray pants. He tugged on the top button, digging at it until popped loose, then slid the zipper down.

He finally broke the kiss, gasping for breath, and he moved his mouth to the side of Kurt's neck, right below his ear. Kurt tilted his head away from him as he trailed kisses down his neck to his collarbone, biting lightly. His skin smelled good, warm and clean and soft, and he stifled a groan as he moved his hands back up to fumble with the impossibly small buttons on Kurt's shirt.

It took some time, but finally Kurt's crisply ironed white shirt hung open, exposing his slender chest. He grabbed Kurt by the hips again, pulling him back up so that he could press his body up against his. Kurt was murmuring something now, and at first he tried to listen, but then he brushed himself up against his pelvis again and he felt so intensely _good _that he couldn't focus on anything else.

He guided Kurt's hips against his, grunting slightly as he tried to keep him in the same pace. But Kurt kept saying something, and it was lost like a dull roar in his ears. All he knew was that he felt amazing, and didn't Kurt feel good too? Didn't he want to feel good?

He slid his hand down the front of Kurt's pants, gripping him carefully. All he wanted was to make Kurt feel just as good as he was making him feel. That was all he wanted. He wanted to make him happy, to see him smile and know that he had caused it. He wanted to feel Kurt's slender arms wrap around his neck, his body pressed tightly against his, and hear him moan in ecstatic relief when he climaxed.

But Kurt was still saying something, loud and insistent, and he didn't know why. Kurt kept pushing against him, not out of desperate need, but…because of something else.

He groaned into Kurt's neck, keeping his grip firm. His dreams had never been this vivid before. He had never imagined how soft his skin was, or how good he smelled, or how it made his eyes roll back in his head to feel his body pressed against his.

But Kurt didn't seem happy, no matter what he tried, and he was trying plenty. And that was all he wanted, just to know that he was making him feel good.

He bent to kiss him again, pulling his hand out of his pants and hugging the shaking boy closer to his chest. Kurt turned his head away and he kissed his cold cheek instead.

He didn't understand. He didn't know why Kurt wasn't happy.

He grabbed Kurt's hips and picked him up so that he was forced to wrap his legs around him or risk falling. Kurt still had his hands against his shoulders, and he was still gripping tightly.

No. Not gripping. Pushing.

He frowned. This wasn't how his dreams usually went.

Kurt was still saying something, and he forced himself to listen, pushing through his foggy, sleepy haze. And then he realized it.

Kurt was screaming.

He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them, waiting for the safety of his bedroom to swim into focus so he could roll over onto his side, curl up under his blankets, and stare at the clock until he fell asleep again with this nightmare far away.

He should be so lucky.

He opened his eyes to see Kurt still pushed against the car, his face turned away, his swollen, reddened lips gaping open. His blue-green eyes were wide open but pale, almost more like glass or a sheet of ice. Little red marks trailed down his neck and chest.

Cold late November wind brushed past them, making him shiver despite the warmth of his jacket, and he saw Kurt tremble. The moon was lost in late-night clouds, but the harsh white light of the parking lot lamps blared down on them.

Bile rose in his throat, choking him. "Stop it," he mumbled, giving Kurt a firm shake. Kurt was still screaming, shouting the same phrase over and over again, and it made his heart shudder in his chest.

"Stop it," he said again, his voice gaining strength. "Stop it, stop screaming."

But Kurt didn't stop, and he couldn't take it. Without thinking he balled his hand into a fist and rammed Kurt in the stomach. "I said stop it," he said roughly.

But he didn't listen, and he couldn't take it. He saw red and he struck out blindly, knocking Kurt against the side of the car, slamming him back again and again. And still Kurt kept screaming.

Finally he drew back and Kurt slid bonelessly to the pavement, still choking out the same awful phrase. "I told you to _stop_," he said, his voice raw, and he grabbed Kurt by the throat, digging his thumbs in tightly.

It took a while for him to fall in to silence, and when he finally did he drew back quickly, staring down at Kurt's lifeless body, his face stark white and expressionless. Terrified, he threw open the driver's side door of his car and flung himself inside, ramming the key into the ignition and taking off without bothering to buckle his seatbelt. The empty beer bottles on the floor of his car clinked and rattled as he drove away from Dalton Academy and rushed towards Lima, time ticking away innocently on the dashboard clock as night fell harder.

The radio played quietly, bouncing through stations, but all he could do was stare helpless at the empty interstate while Kurt's desperate, broken screams echoed in his ears.

_I was safe here! _he could still hear him scream. _I was safe here!_

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**

This is the prologue to a long multichapter fic. I hope you keep reading.**  
**


	2. If I Don't Recover

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

"You're sure he was right behind you?" Finn asked for the millionth time.

"I'm sure," Blaine repeated. "He was just running inside to grab something. He told me to go ahead to the house and he would be right there."

Blaine clutched the steering wheel a little tighter than he usually did, navigating his car down the interstate back towards Dalton. It was a little after midnight, and Kurt should have been home hours ago. At first they thought he was running late…then that maybe he got stuck in traffic. But he wasn't answering his phone. And Kurt always answered his phone.

He had sat by quietly, forgotten by the rest of the family as they started calling Kurt's other friends, trying to see if they had heard from him. When Carole suggested going back to Dalton to look for him, he had quickly offered to go, and had been surprised when Finn offered to go with him. Surprised, but relieved. He didn't want to do this alone, just in case...just in case something really was wrong.

"Do you think he was in a car wreck?" Finn asked.

"If he was, we probably would have seen his car on the side of the road," Blaine said. "Or someone from the hospital would have called us from his phone."

But maybe Finn was right, and he had been in a catastrophic accident. Maybe…

No. That wouldn't do anyone any good.

He took the exit off the interstate towards the school and they drove in silence. His mind kept trying to come up with logical explanations for Kurt's disappearance, and he was coming up with nothing. Beside him, Finn fidgeted anxiously with his seatbelt, his long legs folded up awkwardly.

He flicked on his turn signal, the sound obnoxiously loud in the darkness, and turned into the school's long curved drive. "Do you think he's still inside?:" Finn asked.

"I don't know," Blaine said. "They've probably already closed up for the long weekend, and there's an alarm. I think I know who to call if we need to get inside."

"Do you think he got locked in?" Finn asked.

Blaine rounded the back of the school towards the junior class parking lot. Only one vehicle was left, and his heart leaped into his throat. "There's Kurt's car," he said.

"The door's open," Finn said, and in a second he had snapped off his seatbelt and bolted before Blaine had a chance to park. He took off running towards Kurt's abandoned SUV as Blaine roughly shoved the gearshift and shut off the ignition, then slammed his door as he ran after Finn.

The driver's side door of the Lincoln Navigator was wide open, but the interior light was still off. Blaine couldn't see anything, but he heard Finn choke as he approached. "Kurt?" Finn said. "Kurt, what're you doing?"

Blaine could only see a dim outline, but he could tell Kurt was curled up in the driver's seat, his arms hugging his knees to his chest and his head resting against the steering wheel. Finn reached into the car and flicked on the overhead light, then recoiled.

"What the hell, Kurt, what happened?" Finn demanded.

Kurt raised his head slightly. His right eye was black and purple and blue, swollen to a slit. Blood dribbled down his red lips and his chin and crusted around his nose. "Can't," he said hoarsely.

"Can't what?" Finn said. "Kurt, tell us what happened, okay?"

Us. Blaine had forgotten he was standing there. He just stared at Kurt, unable to move, unable to think.

Kurt shook his head slightly. He was shaking violently, dressed only in his thin white uniform shirt. His Dalton blazer was nowhere to be found, and neither was the warm coat he had been wearing when Blaine saw him last. His skin looked purple, and Blaine wasn't sure if it was from the cold or bruises.

"He's got a blanket in the back of his car," Finn said, his eyes still trained on Kurt. "Blaine?"

"Oh," he said stupidly. He opened up the back door and found a neatly packed organizer hanging over the back of the driver's seat. The largest compartment on the bottom held something thick and soft; he pulled it out and unfolded a decently-sized fleece blanket. He handed it to Finn, who gave him an odd look and draped it around Kurt himself.

"Kurt, did you get into a car wreck?" Finn asked as he tucked the blanket around his brother's shivering frame.

"No," he said in a small, raspy voice.

"His…his car's in the same place it was when I left it," Blaine offered.

Finn probed Kurt's black eye carefully; he whined and pulled away. "How'd you get this?" he asked. "Did someone hit you?"

Kurt leaned back against the seat, lost in the depths of the blue fleece blanket. "Can't," he said.

"Can't what?" Finn pressed. "Kurt, we can't help you if you don't tell us what happened. So stop it, okay?"

Kurt opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. The thick smears of dried blood on his face cracked. He struggled to sit up, pushing the blanket down and fumbling to move his tie out of the way. His slender fingers brushed against his throat. Blaine held his breath at the sight of the darkening handprints that wound around Kurt's white neck. "Can't," he said again.

Finn held up a shaking hand a few inches away from the handprint, as though comparing his long thin fingers to the shorter, thicker ones. "I don't…what happened?" he breathed. "Who could do this to you?"

Kurt sat up a little further, his unkempt hair brushing over his forehead and his chin trembling. He stretched out his hands towards Finn, like a child asking to be held, and in a second Finn grabbed him, pulling him out of the car and cradling him against his chest. "It's okay, Kurt," he said. "We're here now, okay? You're safe."

Kurt suddenly seized up, choking with pain, and Finn set him down carefully on the pavement. The dim light from the inside of the car cast strange shadows over Kurt's limp body, but Blaine's heart sank at the sight of his bloodstained, unbuttoned shirt. His chest and stomach were a maze of bruises, and one side of his ribcage was badly swollen.

"Blaine, c'mere," Finn snapped, balancing Kurt's shoulders carefully under his arm, his head tipping back at a grotesque angle. Blaine obeyed woodenly, kneeling down on the icy cold pavement. Finn set Kurt down gently so that his head was resting on Blaine's knees. Tentatively he stroked his fingers through Kurt's soft hair.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered.

"Sh, it's me," he said. Finn started checking Kurt's injuries the way a football coach would check a downed player. Blaine tried to smile at Kurt, even though he seemed too dazed to focus on him. "You're going to be okay now."

Finn checked over Kurt's swollen ribs, the strange tilt of his right shoulder, the round blackening mark on his stomach. But he paused.

"His pants are unzipped," he said, his voice stifled and strange. "Kurt, what…what happened?"

Kurt stared blearily past Blaine, his eyes going unfocused. "Told him to stop," he rasped.

Blaine struggled to breathe. "Stop doing what?" he whispered.

Kurt just kept looking up at the sky and began to shake his head. His breathing started to speed up and his hands trembled. "Kurt?" Finn called. He took him by the shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position. "Kurt, stop it."

Blaine looked down at his knees and started at the sight of the blood left on his gray pants. He touched the back of Kurt's head and felt sticky, congealing blood and the raw edges of skin. "Finn," he said, holding out his hand.

Finn faltered, still trying to hold Kurt upright. Kurt swayed, tipping backwards, and without thinking Blaine reached for him, wrapping his arms around his thin waist. "You hold him," Finn said roughly, his voice thick, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call 911."

Kurt leaned out of Blaine's arms. "No," he said. "No, no, no."

"You're hurt bad," Finn snapped. "We've got to get an ambulance."

"No!" Kurt shouted, but his voice was gone. He lunged at Finn as if trying to knock the phone out of his hand. Blaine could see his mouth moving and feel Kurt's chest heaving as he screamed, but nothing came out. It was like watching a nightmare. He tightened his arms around Kurt's waist, pulling his back flush against his chest.

"All right, all right," Finn said. "We won't get an ambulance. But we're taking you to a hospital."

He picked Kurt up, wrapping one arm under his shoulders and the other around his knees, and carried him to Blaine's car, ignoring his protests. Blaine pushed himself off the cold asphalt and followed silently. "Open the door," Finn said, shifting Kurt in his arms.

Blaine obeyed numbly. Finn leaned in and set Kurt carefully on the backseat, forcing him to lie down. He fumbled with the middle seatbelt, wrapping it around Kurt's waist and clicking it securely. "Let's go," Finn said, climbing into the passenger seat.

Blaine got behind the wheel and pulled his rarely-used GPS out of the glove compartment, starting a search and picking the address for the nearest hospital. Finn dug his phone out of his back pocket as the car sped out of the parking lot; he wiped the blood off his hands onto his jeans before he dialed. Blaine gripped the steering wheel as Finn hit speed dial.

"Hi, Mom," Finn said. "Yeah, I know you haven't found him. We did." He glanced over his shoulder and into the backseat. "No, he's...he's not okay. Somebody...I don't know what happened, Mom, he's just hurt. We're taking him to the hospital." He covered the receiver with his hand and looked desperately at Blaine. Blaine tapped the GPS screen.

"We're taking him to Westerville Central," Finn continued. He paused and turned his head away a little bit, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "And...and Mom? Could you get here soon? I don't...I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

Despite himself, Blaine glanced in his rearview mirror and looked into the backseat. Kurt still lay where Finn had put him, his arms curled against his chest and his legs dangling limply. The car's heater blared at full blast, but he shivered anyway, his body shaking and his teeth chattering. He stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of him, his eyes vacant and glassy. The only color left in his face was the dark pink of his swollen, bitten lips.

They drove in silence, interrupted only on occasion by the GPS offering directions in its robotic voice. Blaine drove as fast as he dared, ramming his foot down on the gas pedal but taking the curves in the road as gently as he could. Beside him Finn drummed his fingers against his knees, glancing from the road ahead to the GPS and its estimated arrival time to Kurt lying lifeless in the backseat.

Finally they reached the hospital, a sprawling gray brick complex with dozens of lit windows. Blaine pulled up under the emergency room awning and Finn jumped out of the passenger seat to open the back door. He watched helplessly as Finn tried to coax Kurt out of the warm car. "C'mon, Kurt," Finn urged, unbuckling the seatbelt. "C'mon, Kurt, you've gotta work with me here."

Kurt slowly lifted his head and moved a little closer towards Finn. Finn grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him out of the car, grunting a little at the effort. Kurt unfolded himself stiffly, leaning heavily against Finn's side as he attempted to stand on his own feet. Finn slammed the back door and grabbed Kurt, wrapping one arm around his brother's waist and draping one of Kurt's arms over his shoulders. "I'll take him in," he said, pulling Kurt tightly against his side. His still-unbuttoned shirt hung crookedly over his shoulders, exposing his pale chest, and his head tipped drunkenly.

Blaine watched them walk towards the sliding doors, then shook his head and drove off into the parking lot, pulling sharply into the nearest empty space. He killed the engine and fell back against his seat, his chest heaving. There was no way that he could do this. No way. Not again.

He knew was safe in the warmth of his car, listening to his engine settle, but all he could think of was the feel of the pavement beneath against his cheek, the taste of blood in his mouth, the terrible shrieking click of shattered bones jolting together. Unconsciously he rubbed his kneecap, feeling the thick scar tissue through the thin fabric of his gray uniform pants.

He tried to make himself stop thinking. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he got himself lost in his own issues right now. Especially when Kurt needed him. He had to be there for Kurt.

He laughed bitterly, the sound strange in the silence. Once again, he was the only person who would understand what Kurt was going through.

Blaine got out of the car, hitting the remote lock as he walked towards the hospital. The sliding doors whooshed open, ushering him inside with a rush of warm air. The waiting room was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night in November, and the other patients looked hushed and startled. He glanced around for Kurt and Finn, and when he didn't see them he took off down the hall towards the examining rooms.

He found Finn helping a nurse lift Kurt onto the bed. Kurt allowed them to move him, limp and unprotesting. Finn was torn between trying to pay attention to Kurt and answering the doctor's questions. "...I don't know what happened, we just found him the parking lot of his school like this," Finn was babbling frantically. "He won't tell us what happened, but I think somebody beat him up."

Finn looked desperately down at his brother. Kurt lay back on the bed, still shivering violently, his bruises looking blacker and his skin looking whiter in the harsh hospital light. He barely responded as the nurse took his pulse and shone a light in his eyes. Blaine put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Finn didn't seem to respond. The nurse tilted Kurt's head up and slipped a thermometer between his lips.

Blaine stepped closer to the doctor. "When we found him, his pants were unzipped," he whispered. "I think he might have been…sexually assaulted."

The doctor gave him a sharp look, looking from Blaine down to the pale, blue-tinged boy on the examining table. "We'll run the tests," he said. "I think it might be better, though, if you wait outside while we finish examining him."

"Can't we stay?" Finn asked, folding his arms across his stomach.

"You need to give us time to attend to him," the doctor said. "There's a waiting room right outside the door. We'll call you when we can." The nurse took the thermometer from Kurt's lips.

"You're sure we can't stay?" Finn repeated.

"We'll call you when he's stable," the doctor repeated.

Finn turned back desperately towards his brother. Kurt had turned onto his side, pulling his knees up to his chest. His eyes looked dark and vacant. Blaine watched from the sidelines as Finn first put his hand against Kurt's side, then bent quickly and put his forehead against Kurt's temple. His stomach tightened, and he wasn't sure why. Finn whispered something in Kurt's ear, and he realized that he was actually jealous.

_No, _he told himself firmly. _You should not be jealous over this. Now isn't the time._

Finn pulled away from Kurt and stumbled out of the examining room. Blaine hesitated for a second, then followed him. The door swung shut behind them, closing with a loud, final click.

Finn stared at the floor. "I don't know what to do," he mumbled. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Blaine put his hand on his shoulder. "They're going to take care of him," he said quietly. "He's going to be okay."

"No, you don't understand," Finn said. He braced his arm against the wall and dropped his head against his forearm. "Kurt's not going to be okay. He's…this is going to kill him."

Blaine tightened his grip on Finn's shoulder. "They're going to fix all of the physical things," he said. "It's going to take some time for all of the emotional pain to get better, but Finn, he's going to be all right."

Finn pulled away from the wall. His brown eyes were red-rimmed. "Are you sure?" he said.

Blaine paused. "As sure as I can be," he said. "Now come on. We'll wait out here, okay?"

Finn didn't make a move towards the waiting room, so Blaine took him by the elbow and led him forcibly down the hall. The other patients in the waiting room still stared at them, mouths agape. Blaine steered Finn towards the back corner to a row of empty chairs and made him sit down. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he mumbled, half to himself. "What am I supposed to do?"

"We wait," Blaine said gently, sitting down beside him. Finn's hands were shaking; Blaine clasped his hand over Finn's wrist.

They sat in silence- horrible, painful, drawn-out silence. A fussy baby cried in its mother's arms, and the TV chirped cheerfully to no one in particular, but neither of them noticed anything. Every so often they would glance towards the hall that led to the examining rooms, taking turns. Blaine knew they were hoping for the same thing, that the doctor would come back and tell them that everything was fine, that Kurt was all right, that he wasn't hurt and he was happy and it was all some misunderstanding.

But he knew that would never happen.

He bit back a sigh, unconsciously running his thumb up and down the thick scar on his knee and brushing over the large dark splotch of dried blood on his pants, trying to remember back to a few years ago, when he was the one in the emergency room and his family was in this position.

It had taken a few hours to take inventory of his injuries and to tend to them properly, he remembered. His father and sister waited for him, but his mother stayed by his side, holding his hand tightly while they bandaged his wounds and stitched up his knee. He remembered feeling groggy and exhausted afterwards, sleeping for hours in the stiff hospital bed once they moved him from the emergency room.

_Kurt's going to be tired, _he told himself. _He's going to be physically exhausted. We'll have to worry about all of the emotional baggage later, when he doesn't feel so drained._

He wasn't sure how long it was since they left Kurt's room- thirty minutes or three days, who knew?- but all of a sudden Finn leaped away from him, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to his parents. Blaine stood up, trying to push his thoughts away.

Burt got to Finn first, grabbing him the shoulders. "Where is he?" he demanded. "Is he all right? Was he in a wreck?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Finn said, his voice rising. "We just, we got to Dalton, and he was sitting in his car, and he was bleeding and stuff, and…I don't know, I don't know what to do now."

Carole pulled her husband back gently and held her arms out to Finn as her son's face began to crumple. "It's all right, Finn," she soothed. "It's all right, we're here now. Kurt's going to be okay."

Burt looked desperately from his stepson to Blaine. "He's down the hall," Blaine said quickly. "Room four."

Burt took off down the hall. Carole led Finn back to his seat. "I'm sorry," Finn said, dragging a shaking hand across his face. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Carole said, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

"He kept a better head than I did when we found him," Blaine said quietly.

Carole looked up, as if she had forgotten that someone besides her sons were there and she was surprised to see him. She held out her hand to him, and Blaine took it. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look pretty shaken up too."

"I'm doing fine," he said. "This just…hits a little too close to home for me, I think."

Carole seemed to take that in stride, but she squeezed her warm hand over his cold one, and he sat down beside her. "Do you think someone did this on purpose?" she asked.

"I don't know," Blaine said. Suddenly he felt exhausted. He didn't want to think about it anymore. "Maybe. Or maybe it was just some kind of coincidence. Dalton's full of rich students…maybe it was a mugging gone bad or something."

But then he remembered the dropped zipper on Kurt's pants, and the dull, dazed look in his eyes when he had whispered that he had told him to stop, and he realized with a sinking heart that this was no coincidence.

Dully he watched Carole comfort Finn, still rubbing the back of his neck with firm, gentle fingers, and he realized that he couldn't say that right now. Not to Kurt's family. Let the doctor handle it.

Burt walked back towards them, his head bowed and his hands in his pockets. Carole looked up. "Did you see him?" she asked. "How is he?"

Burt sank into the chair opposite them. "He wasn't really all that conscious," he said. "He's, uh…the doctor said he's hypothermic."

Carole's hand closed tightly over Blaine's. "How did that happen?" she demanded.

"He didn't have his coat when we found him," Finn reported dully. "Or his blazer."

"He had to have been out there for hours," Burt said. "They've got him under a bunch of blankets, and they were giving him an IV that's supposed to warm him up faster. They said that when he's stable they'll move him to a room and we can see him."

"When will that be?" Carole said.

Burt took off his baseball cap and dropped it on his knees. "They're not sure," he said. "Once he's warm enough, they have to…well, they have to put him back together." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He woke up a little bit, just enough to look at me. Don't know if he knew that he was looking at me, but…it's something, right?"

"It is, it's good," Carole said, pulling her hand away from Blaine's and placing it on her husband's knee.

"He's got…he's got those handprints on his neck," Burt said quietly. He clenched his fists. "Somebody did this to my kid, and they did it on purpose."

Blaine looked down at his knees, trying to tune out the conversation. He couldn't bear to hear this anymore. Suddenly all he wanted was to turn around and go home. He couldn't do this. Not again, and not now.

But as much as he wanted to leave, he couldn't move. Every time he started to lean forward, to get a little closer to getting up and walking away and going back to the safety of his home, he would catch a something of from their conversation, and it broke his heart. It had been almost four years ago, but he still remembered it- his father thin-lipped and devastated, his mother pale and in tears, his sister shocked and furious. Now he had to watch another family go through this, and no matter what he wanted to do, personally, he had to do something to help. Anything, at this point.

It was well past midnight when the doctor walked back out. He dug his fingernails into his palms as he stood up with the rest of Kurt's family waiting to hear the news. "Is he all right?" Burt demanded.

"He's stable," the doctor said. "His body temperature is back up to acceptable levels, so we're moving him to pediatrics. We'll have to keep him here for a couple of days."

Finn crossed his arms around his stomach; he looked like he was going to throw up. Carole put her hand on his back. "How bad are his injuries?" she asked.

"He has a few stitches in the back of his head and he has a mild concussion," the doctor said, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. "He has several broken ribs, and he twisted his shoulder as well."

"He twisted it?" Finn said. "How's that…how's that even possible?"

"Whoever attacked him must have tried to pin him down by holding his arm above his head," the doctor said, his voice still cool and detached.

"Can we see him?" Burt demanded again.

"They're getting him settled in the pediatrics ward," the doctor said. "And they're documenting his bruises for the police."

"We're getting the police involved?" Carole asked.

The doctor looked from Burt and Carole to Blaine, and then back. "There were suspicions of sexual assault," he said quietly. Heart aching, Blaine watched the color drain from Burt's face. "We examined him and we found extensive bruising, but no signs of penetration."

Blaine took a step back as Kurt's parents turned on the doctor, barraging him with questions and demanding answers. _This is the difference, _he thought, his heart sinking. _No matter what happened to me, no matter how awful…I never had to go through this._

"Look, just let me see my kid," Burt snapped.

The doctor sighed. "They're moving him to room 147," he said. "He's been sedated, though, so he's not going to respond to you."

"I don't care," Burt said roughly, and he took off down the hall. Blaine walked a little behind Kurt's family. This was going to be the worst part, he knew it. The first time they saw Kurt in the hospital bed…that was going to hurt the most.

He approached the room apprehensively. Burt and Carole went in without a second thought, leaving Finn outside the door. Blaine put his hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," Finn said in a low voice. "I'll…I'll be fine."

He squared his shoulders and walked through the door. Blaine followed, bracing himself for what he had to see.

Kurt was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. He was still white as a ghost, and the only color left in his face was the dark pink of his lips. Several blankets were tucked around him, covering him up to his shoulders, but Blaine could see the IV tubing running under the covers. His right eye was black and swollen, but they had cleaned the dried blood away from his nose and chin.

Burt stood beside him, his hand extended towards his son but he wasn't quite touching him. After a moment he brushed his hand over Kurt's hair, smoothing it back gingerly. He said something indistinct in a low, gentle voice.

The doctor brushed past Blaine and Finn, his clipboard still in hand. "You can't stay for very long," he said. "He needs his rest, and we can't have all of you staying here."

"No, we're staying with him," Carole said. She stood at the foot of Kurt's bed, her hand resting gently on his ankle.

"Hospital policy," the doctor said. "One of you can stay with him overnight, but the rest of you will have to leave."

Blaine slipped out into the hallway as Carole argued with the doctor. He bumped up against Finn; Finn didn't even seem to notice. He closed the door, took his phone out of his blazer pocket, and pressed the speed dial.

It rang several times and he crossed his free arm across his chest. It was late, and he wasn't sure if anyone was awake. But at the last second, he heard the light click. "Hello?" his mother said in a soft, sleepy voice.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

"Blaine?" she said, sounding a little more awake. "You're still out in Lima with Kurt and his family, aren't you? Are you sick? Do you need us to come get you?"

"No, Mom, I'm fine," he said. "It's not me. It's Kurt. He's…he never made it home. Someone beat him up in the parking lot."

"Did you take him to the hospital?" she asked.

"We're at Westerville Central," he told her. "He's stable, but his condition is still pretty bad."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she said.

He leaned against the wall. "I have a favor to ask," he said. "His parents and his brother are here, but the hospital will only let one of them stay the night. And I don't think they'd be able to drive all the way back to Lima, so-"

"Tell them to come stay with us," she said. "They can stay with us as long as they need to. I'll tell Dad and get the guest room set up." He sagged against the wall a little in relief.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll talk to them. We'll be there in probably an hour, I guess."

"I'll be up when you get here," she said. "And…sweetheart, are you sure you're all right?"

He sighed. "I'm just trying to not think about it," he admitted quietly.

"Just don't bottle it all up," she said. "Talk to somebody if it's getting to be too much."

"I will," he promised.

"I'll see you soon," she said. "I love you."

"Love you too," he said, and he ended the call. As silly as it was, talking to his mother made him feel better. She was good with crisis situations, much better than he was. She could handle this.

He walked back into Kurt's hospital room. The doctor had left, and Carole had moved to Burt's side, keeping her arm around his waist while they discussed the situation. "You and Finn should get a hotel or something," Burt was saying. "I don't think you two should drive all the way back to Lima."

"I don't think so either," Blaine said. They turned towards him, as if they had forgotten he was with them. "My parents live about thirty minutes away from here. I called my mom, and she said you all could come stay with us."

"Are you sure?" Carole said. "We don't want to impose."

"It's not imposing," Blaine said. "There's no way you can drive the two hours to Lima right now, then turn around and drive the two hours back in the morning. And I already told my mother and she's expecting you. She'll be devastated if you don't come."

Carole opened her mouth to protest again, but Burt put his hand on her shoulder. "Go ahead," he said gently. "You're tired. I'll stay with Kurt, you go and get some sleep. And take Finn. He looks worn out."

Carole looked at her son. Finn slumped in a chair in the corner of Kurt's room, his chin resting in his hand as he stared blankly at the floor. "All right," she relented. "I suppose…I suppose we can do that."

Blaine turned to Finn as Kurt's parents said their goodbyes to each other. "Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"

Finn looked up. "He looks like he's dead," he said dully.

"He's just sleeping," Blaine said. "Now come on. We're going back to my house."

He held out his hand and Finn took it. Blaine pulled him to his feet. "I thought you lived at Dalton," he said.

"Usually," Blaine said. "But my parents live pretty close to here. Closer than Lima, anyways."

"Oh," Finn said. He rubbed his eyes.

Burt pulled a chair up to Kurt's bed and sat down. "I'll see you three in the morning," he said. He put his hand over his son's. Blaine gave one last look at Kurt lying there, pale and motionless and bruised, and he walked away.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, this is...I don't even know what to say at this point.

All I can say is...thank psychopiratess, aka Kat, aka my best friend. See, I wrote the prologue for this story, but I had no idea where it was going, or if I would even post it. But Kat and I get together to watch Glee on Tuesday nights (or at least we diiiiid...) and I showed her what I had written. And basically...she took it and ran with it.

So it goes like this: we come up with how the plot should basically go, she writes the detailed summary, and I write it as the story. So...thank her for this, mmkay?

It's sort of weird to write this, because I've never written anything that merited an M-rating. So...I hope it's not too...out there, I guess. I'm also going to make people swear. Which I never do. I almost never swear in real life, so it's weird.

I know a lot of people have been asking about my other stories, but don't worry, I'm working on _all _of them. I've just been wracked with writer's block over most of them, and this one has been easier to write because I've got Kat breathing down my neck to write more. (So thank her for that, too...) But I have the new chapter of "Someday You Will Be Loved" in progress, and I've been developing the last chapter of "Every Plan" for a while (I really don't want to mess it up). So...please have faith!

This story is really kind of draining. I've written up until the third chapter, and really, this story is taking a lot out of me emotionally. And just you wait until you see what's coming up between Blaine and Kurt...oh, I'm going to be a wreck.

But seriously, thank you for all the kind reviews and alerts. I hope you keep reading. It's going to be an interesting ride.


	3. Sell This House

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

He drove down the dark, empty streets in silence. Carole sat beside him in the passenger seat, her hands knotted in her lap. Finn sat in the backseat and looked like he was seconds away from falling asleep.

He turned into the entrance of his neighborhood. It hadn't changed a bit, and he smiled a little despite himself. Out of habit he flicked his turn signal on as he turned right onto his street, even though no one was around. He rounded the corner and pulled his car into the driveway, parking in front of the closed garage doors.

He got out of the car and waited for Carole and Finn, then locked it and led them up the front steps. His small blonde mother opened the door before he could knock or get his keys out. "Hi, sweetheart," she said, cupping his chin in her hand and kissing him on the cheek. "Come inside, it's cold."

He walked into the foyer. "Mom, this is Carole Hudson-Hummel and Finn," he said. "Carole, Finn, this is my mother, Anna Montrose."

"Call me Anna," she said. She pulled Carole into a hug. "I'm so sorry about Kurt. How is he?"

"He's stable," Carole said, wiping at her eyes. "His father's staying with him tonight."

"Of course," Anna said. Blaine relaxed as his mother took charge. "Carole, I have the guest room set up for you, and Blaine, could you take Finn to Francey's room?"

"Sure," he said.

She squeezed his arm. "I'll see you in the morning," she said. "But let me know if you need anything, all right?"

"Sure," Blaine said. "Thanks, Mom."

He headed up the stairs and Finn followed him. "Who's Francey?" he asked.

"My sister," Blaine explained. "She's a junior at UK, so her room's empty." He opened the door and flicked on the lights. "Pre-med, but on an opera scholarship. If she couldn't recite the entirety of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and have the most creative collection of swear words I'd ever heard, I would totally hate her."

Finn didn't seem to notice his attempt at a joke. "You guys close?" he asked.

"Mm-hm," Blaine said.

"Kurt didn't say anything about you having a sister," he said, looking around the dark lavender walls of Francey's bedroom.

"He hasn't gotten to meet her yet," Blaine said. "She'll be back home to visit for Christmas."

Finn frowned at his shoes. "But your parents have met Kurt," he said.

"They came to see sectionals, and he's been over a few times for dinner," Blaine said. Finn sat down on the edge of Francey's bed, his shoulders slumped. "I'll go see if I have any clothes you can borrow."

He left Finn and walked across the hall to his own room. It looked the same as when he was last there, his bed neatly made and his furniture dusted. He paused for a second. It was weird, but being home instantly made him feel like a child again. He felt safer, like he didn't have to be the one in charge anymore.

Blaine kicked off his shoes, leaving them where they fell, and shrugged out of his blazer. He knew he wanted to let go of this and let someone else hand it, but he knew he shouldn't. He knew that when Kurt woke up, he was going to need him. Whether or not he was going to be ready for it was another story.

He rummaged through his dresser drawers, pulled out a pair of pajamas, and changed quickly. It took a little longer to find something that might possibly fit Finn, but he finally unearthed an old pair of pajama pants that had always been a little too long for him. He walked back across the hall to his sister's vacant room, only to find Finn still sitting on the bed, the purple plaid comforter rumpling underneath him, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands.

"I found you something to sleep in," Blaine said. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm just thinking," Finn said.

"That could be dangerous," he quipped gently. "What are you thinking about?"

Finn stared at the pattern in the cream colored carpet. "Who do you think did this to Kurt?" he asked.

Blaine sat down beside him and folded his arms. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think it was anyone at Dalton. He doesn't have any enemies here."

"But it's not like anybody from McKinley could have gotten up here," Finn argued. "And…and…why would anyone from McKinley want to…you know…"

"Almost rape him?"

"Yeah," Finn said. "I mean, it's not like any of the bullies at McKinley are gay for him or anything."

Blaine bit back a reply. Apparently Kurt still hadn't told his family about the kiss situation. Now wasn't really the time to break the news to Finn, but he felt his chest tighten. _Maybe Karofsky…_he started to think.

"He shouldn't have come to Dalton."

Blaine looked at him. "He had to, Finn," he said. "He wasn't safe anymore."

"Yeah, well, guess he's not safe anywhere," Finn said bitterly. He clenched his fists. "He should have stayed at McKinley. I could have protected him."

"Finn-"

"I promised him," Finn said through his teeth. "I promised him, at the wedding, in front of everybody, that I was gonna do whatever it took to keep him safe. But I can't do that at Dalton, and now he's…I didn't even get a chance. I didn't get a chance at all to protect him!"

"I know you're upset, but-"

Finn pushed himself off the bed and started stalking back and forth. "You don't understand," he said miserably. "I didn't help Kurt when he needed me. I was too freaked out about what people were going to think about me. That they'd think I was gay too." He paused, stricken. "Sorry."

Blaine kept his mouth shut.

"I just…" Finn ran his hands through his hair and sank back to the edge of the bed. "I _suck_, okay? I could have helped him, and I didn't do anything about it, and now…now…"

Finn's voice shook. Blaine put a hand on his shoulder. "You're tired, and it's been a long day," he said gently. "Get some rest, Finn. We can talk about this later, okay?"

Finn didn't move as Blaine squeezed his shoulder and got up. He felt a little guilty leaving him like that, but truthfully, he just didn't want to think about it. He just…he didn't want to go there.

He went back into his own bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and crawled into his bed. His head sank into the softness of his pillow and he pulled the covers over his head. But no matter how tired he was, somehow he couldn't make his thoughts turn off. All he could think about was Kurt, crumpled in the parking lot, and his own memories, and no matter what he wanted, he couldn't let it go.

* * *

Blaine strode around the busy, noisy stage, hefting his screw gun and humming the melody of his solo under his breath. Sure, playing a role in the Radnor High production of A Christmas Carol wasn't exactly glamorous, and he had just been an ensemble member, but he had gotten to play the lead caroler and sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" in front of the whole school, and that was pretty awesome for a freshman, right?

He decided it as awesome. And besides, he finally got to do a show with his sister. Of course, Francey had played the Ghost of Christmas Past, which was much more impressive than his part, but still. It was beside the point.

A pair of arms grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him off his feet. "What are you doing?" Francey said as he yelped and wriggled out of her grasp. She was seventeen compared to his fourteen, and was still a few inches taller, despite his mother's repeated reassurances that yes, he was going to have a growth spurt. "Are you helping with set strike? You know everyone has to help with strike."

"I'm working," he protested, stepping back and smoothing his unruly curls.

Francey laughed. Vestiges of her stage makeup still lingered on her faces, mostly the red on her lips and the smoky shadows around her greenish-hazel eyes, and a bedraggled sprig of holly was still pinned to her long black ringlets. "You're not helping anyone by strutting around like you're hot stuff," she teased. "There's a pile of broken flats that need to be taken out to the dumpster. Go on, get."

She took the screw gun from his hands and gave him a playful push. He rolled his eyes as he walked over to the heap of broken flats. He picked up enough pieces as he could manage and trudged to the propped open back doors of the old auditorium.

The early December evening was fairly cold, and he shivered in his short-sleeved tee shirt. Hopefully he could dump everything off, then book it back inside where it was warm.

"Kid, you are so freaking gay it hurts."

He froze, his arms closing tightly around the broken, splintered pieces of plywood. His heart sank as he recognized one of his most persistent tormentors. Mason Chambers was a junior, good looking, and popular- which apparently, in his mind, meant that he had the god-given right to be full of himself.

Blaine took a step back. Mason and his two favorite partners in crime, Bruce the football fullback and Campbell the basketball team captain, leaned against the dumpster in rumpled suits. His heart sank further. He had totally forgotten that the last night of the play was the same night as the FCA Christmas banquet. Of course every Radnor athlete was on campus tonight.

"Do you want anything in particular with me, or would you like to continue offering generic threats and insults?" he quipped. He had realized some time back that humor helped diffuse the various situations he found himself in. Usually Mason would get confused and leave him alone.

No such luck tonight. Campbell laughed at him. "We know what you want," he said, making a lewd gesture. They roared at that one as he clutched the plywood scraps and his ears flushed red.

He had hoped that he could fly under the radar at Radnor when it came to his sexuality. Only a few months ago, during the summer between junior high and high school, he had come out to his family, and they had been surprisingly supportive, even Francey. He waited eagerly for high school start, imagining that there had to be at least a few other gay guys at his new school.

No such luck. He was the only one- at least he only one out of the closet- and he was a freshman, and he was short for his age. Apparently at Radnor that translated to "everyone's favorite target."

In his first semester he had already endured his money and belongings stolen, his locker defaced, his homework ripped up. He had been tripped, mocked, pantsed, insulted, everything- and yet no one was ever caught, and his countless trips to principals and teachers yielded nothing. His mother kept telling him to be brave, to not sink to their level because he was a better person, so he squared his shoulders and faced then head on.

The three of them were still laughing at his expense over Campbell's joke. He sighed. "Can we get this over with?" he said.

Mason sobered quickly, scowling. "Get what over with?" he said.

Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "You know," he said lightly. "You do this all the time. Call me some names, rough me up a little, you walk away, and I move on with my life. I'm used to it."

The three bigger guys exchanged glances, their profiles sharp in the moonlight. "We don't do this for you to get used to it, queer," Bruce said.

Blaine took a step back as they approached him. "Yeah, we do it so you'll get a clue and get the hell out of here," Mason snapped. "You don't belong here, fag."

His eyes stung. It didn't matter how many times he heard it. It still hurt.

"You know, I heard that you're gonna try out for soccer in the spring," Campbell said. "That so you can stare at naked guys in the locker room? You a fag _and _a perv?"

Blaine gritted his teeth. "No, I'm trying out for soccer because I don't suck, unlike everyone else on the team," he retorted.

Mason smirked. "Think you got it backwards," he said. "Pretty sure you're the only one in the school who _does _suck."

Blaine seriously considered chucking the broken flats at them. "Really, a blowjob joke?" he said. "Is that the best you can do?"

"You want us to do better?" Mason growled. His stomach twisted suddenly. Maybe he really should have thought this through. "Fine. We can do better."

He didn't register Mason's raised hands until they had already latched onto his shoulders. The bigger guy slammed him against the side of the dumpster, ramming the broken flats into his stomach before his arms gave out and he dropped them.

"How's that, queer eye?" Campbell sneered as he blinked in the white parking lot lights, stars swimming in his vision.

His heart thumped rabbit-fast. He didn't care about being brave any more. All he cared about was running away, running inside where it was warm and safe and they couldn't touch him, not with so many witnesses around. And so he ran, his feet skidding out from under him.

But that would have been too easy.

One of them lunged close behind him, grabbed a handful of his thick hair, and rammed him down face first into the pavement. A sharp, fierce pain shot through his knee, overwhelming the burn of the gravel embedded in his forehead, and he screamed shrilly.

"Is it better now, homo? You learning your lesson?"

He twisted away from his captor, probably shredding his hair in his firm grasp, and scrabbled desperately to his feet. His knee gave way and he fell hard.

Everything blurred. His mouth tasted like blood. Distantly he could hear them shouting at him, but the only thing he could hear clearly was a sharp, clean snap. He slumped facedown, unable to move. The asphalt bit into his skin, and if he had had more control over his body, he would have shivered in the cold.

One of his tormentors suddenly fell back from him. "What the hell are you doing?" a girl's voice demanded, sharp and terrifying. He gasped for breath; the girl's voice was the only thing he could understand clearly.

The other two stepped back, shocked and guilty like children caught stealing cookies, and he could hear them mumbling some kind of excuse.

_Really, an excuse?_ he wanted to say. _I don't think you're that creative._ And he tried to say it, but no sound came out.

He heard the girl step towards him. "You bastards, what did you do to him?" she said. "He's fourteen, you retards, he couldn't have done anything to you."

He closed his eyes as he recognized her voice. Francey.

"You bastards," she screamed, and he could hear her striking out at them. "You bastards, he's just a kid! He's just a fucking kid!"

He felt rather than heard them run away, their footsteps heavy and shaking the ground beneath him. Francey knelt beside him, turning him over. He cried out when his leg shifted.

"It's okay, it's okay," Francey said. "It's- shit, Blaine, where's all the blood coming from?"

She kept her hands against his cheeks. "My knee hurts," he whimpered.

Francey glanced down at his legs. Even in the faint glow of the parking lot lights, he could see the red blood streaming over his right leg. A sharp shard of plywood had splintered off and embedded itself deeply in his knee. He grabbed at her, panic-stricken. "Shit, baby," she said in a low voice. "Don't freak out, okay?"

She wrapped her arms under his shoulders and yanked him into a sitting position. His head swam and his stomach churned. "Francey, I don't feel good," he mumbled.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," she said. "Come on, baby. We're going to get you to the ER. Hold on to me, okay?"

He wrapped his arms around his sister's neck as she tried to lift him. She was warm and her hair smelled strongly like hairspray and her tee shirt smelled like home, and he couldn't take it anymore. He burst into tears, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Francey gripped him tightly. "Don't cry, Blaine," she commanded. "Don't cry. I'm here, and it's gonna be okay. So don't cry."

But he couldn't stop crying. He clung to her desperately, terrified and shaking, as she stroked her fingers through his dark curly hair and kissed his scraped forehead. Francey did her best to comfort him, but this wasn't the sort of thing that could be fixed with a hug and a kiss.

No, he would never be able to just let this go. Never.

* * *

Burt knew he ought to at least try to sleep. It was pushing five, after all, and it had been a long day. But aside from dozing off for fifteen minutes or so at a time in the uncomfortable chair, he hadn't been able to fall asleep.

This was just like history repeating. He remembered countless nights like this- sitting by his wife's hospital bed, trying to sleep and knowing he couldn't, keeping his eyes trained on her face for any signs of change. But now it wasn't Mollie anymore, it was Kurt.

His hands clenched involuntarily. How anyone could hurt a child like this he would never understand. Much less his child. If he ever caught that bastard, he would kill him.

But most of all he hoped that Kurt didn't remember. Part of him wanted Kurt to remember, so he could tell the police and they could lock up whatever sick maniac it was up for an eternity. But most of him didn't want Kurt to remember. Kurt had already gone through so much. He didn't need this. He didn't deserve this.

Burt studied his son's face. The color had gradually come back to Kurt's cheeks, but he looked flushed now, like he was running a fever. He was getting restless, too, turning his head frenetically from side to side every so often and making soft little noises. Burt hoped he could calm down without having to be sedated again.

Kurt suddenly turned away from him, his face twisting. He was mumbling something in his sleep, but Burt couldn't understand what he was saying. He put a hand gently on Kurt's chest in an attempt to calm him down. Kurt just pulled away from him, still making those awful distressed noises.

Burt stood up. He rubbed Kurt's chest lightly, trying to soothe him without putting too much pressure on his injuries. Kurt kept crying out. "Kurt, wake up," he said. "Come on, wake up."

Kurt fell back against the pillows, shaking off the layers of blankets and arching his back. Suddenly he screamed, his mouth opening wide. Burt gripped him by his uninjured shoulder. "Kurt, wake up," he said loudly.

Kurt's eyes shot open. His scream died in his throat and he slumped back, gasping for breath. Burt leaned over him, smoothing his sleep-tousled hair like he did when Kurt was a child. "It was just a nightmare, kiddo," he soothed. "You're okay."

Kurt screwed up his face. "Dad?" he rasped.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, rubbing his thumb against Kurt's forehead.

"Why does…where am I?" he whispered. Kurt raised his shaking hand to his forehead. "I was…the parking lot, and…and…"

His voice trailed off. "You're in the hospital," Burt told him quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You were hurt pretty bad."

Kurt's face crumpled and his shoulders began to shake. He buried his face in his hands and whispered something indistinct. Burt pulled his hands away; Kurt kept looking down at his knees, his eyes wide and gray and vacant. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry."

"Hey," Burt said, gripping his thin hands. "Hey, you don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said again, biting at his reddened chapped lips. His breathing came faster and faster. "I'm sorry you have to be here. I'm sorry you had to send me to Dalton. I'm sorry I couldn't keep myself safe. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I'm gay. I'm sorry."

"Kurt!" Burt said. Kurt rocked slightly back and forth on the bed, his hands still caught tightly in his father's. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. Nothing at all."

It did nothing to dissuade Kurt. "I'm sorry," he kept saying, panicked and frantic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You haven't done anything wrong," Burt said. "Calm down, kiddo. Come on, lie back down."

Kurt still gripped his hands tightly. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry," he said.

It felt like someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed it. Kurt hadn't called him that since he was ten. Burt let go of his hands and gathered his son into his arms. Kurt yelped in pain, but he dropped his head against his father's shoulder and flung his good arm around his neck. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said, his voice low and rough. He held Kurt against him tightly. "I love you, Kurt. I'm proud of you, and there's nothing you can that would ever change any of that. You understand me?"

Kurt clung to him, sobbing against his neck. It reminded him of countless nights when his son was little, when he woke up from bad dreams and had to be carried to his parents' room to be kissed and cuddled and comforted before he could go back to sleep, snuggled between them. But this wasn't the sort of nightmare that could he could fix.

Burt sat on his son's hospital bed for a long time, cradling him even though Kurt kept crying and kept murmuring that he was sorry, so sorry. He kissed Kurt on the top of his head, something else he hadn't done in a while, and he held him until Kurt's words faded away, until his sobs spiraled down into soft whimpers, and then at last he fell asleep, a dead weight in his father's arms. But Burt didn't dare move him. All he knew was that he was glad at least one of them would get some sleep that night.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

You guys, I can't believe I actually swore. Seriously. I almost never swear. Ask Kat.

I wrote the entire Blaine flashback scene on my iPod. While I was doing beading at work. It was ridiculous.

What did you think of Francey? I hope she's interesting. I love how everyone thinks Blaine has a sister. I made her older, though, because Blaine just has that slightly spoiled, well-cared-for attitude that I think goes along with being the baby of the family. That's going to come into play a little more clearly, when I introduce Blaine's parents a little more.

Also, I gave Blaine the last name Montrose. I don't even know how that one came to be.

But yeah. I hope this story is interesting, and that I didn't push anyone away with my sudden f-bomb droppage. Let me know what you think!


	4. Find Something Lost Outside Your Window

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess

* * *

He raised his head slowly from the steering wheel. Somehow he didn't remember driving back to Lima, but somehow he was home, parked in his own driveway. Stiffly he unfolded himself from his slumped, cramped position and opened the door.

It was freezing outside. He shivered despite his heavy letterman's jacket. For a second he thought of _him_, small and pale and crumpled on the black asphalt, but he shook the thought away. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Just…a dream.

He closed the car door without bothering to lock it and walked up the flower-flanked walk to the front door. There was still a light on in the living room, and he hesitated. Someone was up, and they were bound to ask questions. He squared his shoulders, put his key in the lock with somehow shaking hands, and walked inside.

"Honey? You home?"

He stamped his shoes on the entry mat. "Yeah," he called softly, his voice hoarse. He started for the stairs.

"Come here for a second."

He paused, his foot on the first stair, and closed his eyes. Reluctantly he made his way over to his mother. She sat on the living room couch in her bathrobe, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. He lurked in the darkened doorway as she put down her crossword puzzle.

"You're late," she said.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"How did the game go?" she asked. "I'm sorry I missed it. I had to take your brother to his karate lesson."

"It was good," he shrugged.

He remembered the game. It felt like it had happened years earlier, running around the field in his gear, the cold biting at his face and fingertips. But at least he remembered it clearly.

"You win?"

"We lost."

She took her glasses off and faced him, her arms folded across her chest. "You went to a party afterwards, didn't you?" she accused.

He stared down at his shoes. "Yeah," he said.

He sort of remembered that part. He remembered driving…somewhere, to someone's house. His team was there. So was the other team. They were from some other town. Started with a W. Or something.

There were girls there. Cheerleaders. He remembered kissing one of them. That was good, right?

"Did you drink?" she demanded.

He knew better than to lie about this. "A little," he said.

He didn't remember how much he drank. So maybe it wasn't that bad.

She sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead. "You know how your father and I feel about you drinking at those parties," she said. "You're underage, and if you get arrested, so help me, we will just let you go to juvie. Goodness knows nothing we've ever tried has gotten your attention and made you stop."

He liked drinking. The taste was definitely acquired, and the hangover was murder, but drinking at post-game keggers meant that he could loosen up, forget about things. It was nice to let go for a little while.

"Did you at least let someone drive you home?" she asked wearily.

He shifted his weight. "I waited till the buzz wore off," he lied.

"You're going to get in a wreck," she snapped. "Do you want to do that? You'll lose your football scholarship to Miami if you're not careful. And what if you kill somebody while you're driving drunk, or…"

He waited for her lecture to end. They always did.

"…and we just don't want you to throw your life away," she said. She sighed. "You've got practice tomorrow. Go get some sleep, all right?"

"G'night," he mumbled as he turned back towards the stairs.

"Goodnight, honey. Love you."

He climbed the stairs slowly, his whole body aching. It was probably from the football game. He vaguely remembered taking a couple of bad tackles. Yeah. That had to be it.

He walked into his room, shut the door, and turned on the lights. His room looked the same it always did- dark red walls, unmade bed, checked curtains. Clothes littered the floor; dirty dishes from last night's midnight snack collected dust on his desk.

He kicked his sneakers off and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair. But even through his bleary haze, he noticed that something wasn't quite right.

He flexed his fingers and looked down at his hands. For some reason, his knuckles were coated with something dark and streaky. Shaking, he raised them to the light.

Blood.

He stumbled down the hall to the little bathroom he shared with his brother, shut the door and slammed on the lights. The blood looked brighter, redder somehow. He switched on the faucet full blast and thrust his hands under the cold water. It seared his skin, but he didn't care. He kept his hands under the water until his fingernails took on a faint blue tinge, scrubbing fiercely with the bar of clean white soap. It smelled slightly sweet and slightly tangy, and it smelled like…like _him._

He dropped the bar back in the chipped dish like it had scalded him and grabbed his bottle of body wash out of the shower. The thick green goo oozed over his hands and the musky forest pine scent washed everything else away.

He rinsed off the foaming soap and wiped his clean, reddened, chapped hands off on the dark blue towel behind him. Then he turned back around and caught his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes were ringed with heavy black circles. He was paler than usual, but his lips were dark red and swollen. But worse…worst of all…his plain white tee shirt was splattered with blood.

He ran out of the bathroom, not caring if the sounds of slamming doors woke his younger siblings, and bolted back into his bedroom. Forcefully he yanked his shirt off, wadding it into a little ball. For a split second he nearly stuck it in the wastebasket by his desk, but no, his mom took out the trash from his room. She'd find it. She'd kill him.

He shoved it in the back of his closet instead, behind a pair of old football cleats and his backpack from middle school. Still shaking, he stripped off his jeans, dropping them on the floor by his bed, and pulled on a pair of pajama pants, the flannel old and soft and familiar, and he crawled into his bed, pulling his blankets and comforter over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes tightly.

_It was all just a dream, _he told himself. _Just a dream. You probably got into a fight or something at the party. But you didn't…you didn't do what you think you did._

But try as he might, he didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So now we have a little glimpse in the mind of Kurt's assailant. And rest your heads easy, my dears, Blaine isn't an amnesiac psychopath. Perhaps you have already figured out who it is...

I hope you keep reading this story. It's going to be in two acts with an intermission, and I've written the next couple of chapters. And there is a chapter that made me bawl while I was writing it, and when Kat read it she had to stop because she was crying. So, please...keep reading.

Also, I'm so glad that everyone likes Francey! It made me so excited that she only popped up in Blaine's brief explanation and a flashback, and yet people love her! I might pull her in a little bit more. What do you think? Would you like to see some more interactions between Blaine and his sister? And how do you think Kurt will react to her?

So yeah. I hope you keep reading, and please tell me what you think of this story! It's really difficult to write, but I'm glad I'm doing it.


	5. Not Forever

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Finn stood next to him, his hands in his pockets. "Think they'll let us come in to see him soon?" he asked.

Blaine shrugged. "I hope so," he said.

He hadn't slept much the night before, and if the bags under his eyes were any indication, Finn hadn't slept either. Thankfully, his mother had gotten up before them and made enough coffee to fortify a small army. She had also tried to make them breakfast, but relented when she saw how desperately they wanted to go to the hospital, although she did make Blaine promise that he would call if they needed anything.

Finn's phone rang unexpectedly, jangling some kind of sappy Broadway love ballad, and he picked it up with a sigh. "H'llo?" he said. "Oh. Rachel, yeah, sorry. No, I'm not home. Yeah, I remember we were supposed to go out today. But I…yeah, I know…listen…_Rachel, _just stop it, okay?"

Finn sighed heavily, raking his fingers through his hair. "Look, I've never flaked out on you before, have I?" he said. "I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner, but Kurt's in the hospital, and I…no, the one in Westerville. He got beat up and…he got beat up. So, I just…what? No, no, you don't need to come out here. I'm fine, I…Rachel, I'm okay, you don't need to worry about me. I'll call you when I can, okay? Sure. Yeah. Love you too."

He closed the phone, turned it to vibrate, and shoved it in his back pocket. "That was your girlfriend, right?" Blaine said.

Finn shook his head. "She went from totally pissed off to telling me she was going to come up here and make sure I was okay," he said. "I don't understand girls."

Blaine sort of grinned at that, but his smile faded when he saw a tall, slim woman striding down the hall towards them. She paused at the number beside the door, then turned to them. "Hi, I'm looking for Kurt Hummel," she said. She pulled a detective's badge out of her coat pocket, and Blaine's blood ran cold.

"He's in there," Finn said.

She tucked a strand of short dark red hair behind her ear. "I'm Detective Liza Finley, from the state police," she said. "The hospital called to report a sexual assault. I need to get a statement from the victim."

Blaine resisted the urge to shiver, but he silently opened the door. Burt and Carole were sitting beside Kurt's bed; they both looked up, surprised, when the three of them came in. The detective walked over to them, introducing herself in a gentle voice. Blaine stared down at Kurt. He lay flat on his back, fast asleep, his head tilting a little bit to the side. The handprints on his neck looked darker than ever.

"I need to get his statement so we can start processing his case," the detective was saying.

"He's sleeping," Burt said flatly. "He had a rough night. Can't this wait?"

"Mr. Hummel, the longer we wait, the harder it will be to find who did this to him," she said.

Burt sighed. "I just don't have the heart to wake him up," he said helplessly.

Carole squeezed his arm. "Let me do it," she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed and bent over him, murmuring gently in his ear. Kurt started to rouse, his face twisting a little. Blaine stepped a little closer to the other side of his bed.

"Kurt, sweetheart," Carole said softly. "We need you wake up, okay?"

His unblacked eye started to crack open a little bit, his lashes fluttering. He shrank back from Carole and she immediately put her hand against his cheek. "It's just me, Kurt," she said.

He squinted at her. "Carole?" he mumbled, his voice thick from sleep.

"Yes, honey," she said as she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Your dad is right here too."

"Dad?" he said, opening his eyes a little more.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said. He leaned over and touched his big, rough hand gently to his son's cheek. "You wanna try to sit up a little?"

Kurt braced his good hand against the bed and tried to push himself up. He immediately fell back. "Oh," he said, wincing. "Oh, it didn't hurt this bad last night."

"You were half frozen, honey, you probably couldn't feel anything," Carole said. She rearranged the pillows behind his back and helped him gently into a half-reclining, half-sitting position. "Your pain medication has probably worn off by now too. I can get the nurse."

"That'll make him sleepy," Blaine cut in quietly. "You should probably wait until afterwards."

Kurt turned his head slightly at the sound of his voice. "Blaine?" he said, shrinking back a little.

He smiled. "Hi," he said. "Glad to see you back with us."

Kurt frowned. "Why can't I go back to sleep?" he asked.

The detective exchanged a look with Kurt's parents and stepped forward, her gold badge in her hand. "Kurt, I'm Liza Finley," she said. "I'm from the state police department. I need to get a statement from you about your attack."

Kurt shrank visibly back into the pillows. "No," he said. "No, I don't think…I don't want to…"

"Kurt, our department is prepared to look for your attacker, but we can't do much without your testimony," Liza said.

He dug his hands into the blankets. His nails were broken and shredded, and his knuckles were scraped. " I don't think I remember much," he whispered.

"Just tell them what you can," Burt urged. "At least give 'em something, kiddo."

"Dad, I-"

"Just say something," Finn said. Blaine looked over his shoulder at him; Finn leaned against the back wall with his hands in his pockets. "C'mon, Kurt."

Kurt looked down at his knees. "I was getting ready to leave Dalton," he began.

Liza pulled out a digital recorder and turned it on, standing near the edge of Kurt's bed. "Do you remember what time it was?" she asked gently.

"Around eight, maybe?" he said. "It was after Warblers rehearsal, and I had to go up to my room to get my things for the long weekend, so…around eight. Maybe eight-thirty." He picked at the skin around his cracked thumbnail. "Blaine and I were the last ones out. We were going to drive to my parents' house, and…and we were about to leave, but I realized I had left something behind in my room. So I told him to go on ahead of me."

Blaine looked down at his shoes and crossed his arms over his chest, his ears suddenly roaring. _If I had stayed…_he thought. _If I had stayed, none of this would have happened._

He shoved the thoughts away. That was for another time, when he had the luxury of time to think.

"I…I had to walk around to the opposite side of the building," Kurt said. He kept staring at his knees, kept picking at the dead skin around his nail. "Back towards the door that opens into the junior dorm wing. But it was locked, for the long weekend, so…so I couldn't get in."

Blaine closed his eyes. He should have known that. He knew that the school was nearly empty, that the faculty was going to close up soon. He should have reminded Kurt that, told him that whatever he forgotten he could probably just replace or borrow until they came back after the break. But no, he was already on the interstate, singing absently while he drove his warm car through the light snow.

"So I walked back around to my car," Kurt said. His thumb bled where he had scraped at it, but he didn't seem to notice. Carole placed her hand over his, stilling his frenetic fingers. "It was…my car was parked on the far edge of the lot, so I had to walk kind of far. But…but…there was another car, and I didn't see it until I rounded the corner, and…and…"

"Do you remember what kind of car it was?" Liza asked.

He paused. "It was…it was an SUV, I think," he said. "It was older, an older model…dark colored? I don't, I don't remember, I'm sorry, I just-"

"It's all right," Liza said quickly. "Go on and finish."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Carole squeezed his hand. "I saw the car, and I thought it was weird, because it wasn't…I didn't think it belonged to anyone at Dalton," he said. "I walked past it, and then…then somebody grabbed me."

"How did he grab you?" Liza asked.

He bit his lip. "By the…the wrist," he said. "He yanked my arm back, above my head, so he could…he could push me up against the car."

"And you're sure it was a he?"

He nodded. "I'm sure," he whispered.

Liza nudged the recorder a little closer to him. "Go on."

"He pulled my coat off," Kurt said. He kept staring down at his knees, and his knuckles went white as he clutched Carole's hand. "He pulled it off, and he tossed it on the ground. I thought he was going to…to mug me or something, I don't know, so I tried…I tried to tell him my wallet was in my coat pocket, so he could just take it, and I could go home, because…because I just wanted to go _home_, but…he pinned me up against the car, and he started…he started to…kiss me."

Burt pushed himself out of his chair and started pacing back and forth, back and forth in front of the window. Blaine glanced across the room at Finn from under his lashes; he had gone slack-jawed, staring at Kurt, the color draining from his face.

Kurt's shoulders heaved. "He kept kissing me, and he took my blazer off, and I kept…I kept trying to push him off me, but he was big, a lot bigger than me," he said, his voice beginning to shake. Carole clasped her free hand over his, smoothing her thumb over his soft, scraped skin. "And I…I tried, I really tried." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Dad, I tried."

Burt halted midstep and turned to look at him. "Oh, kiddo," he said. "I know, Kurt. I know you tried."

Kurt moved his hand unconsciously towards his chest. "He unbuttoned my shirt," he said. "He kept…he kept touching me, and I couldn't, I couldn't get him to stop. And then…he…he unbuttoned my pants, and he…"

His voice trailed off as he raised his trembling chin, ever the proud one. "He touched me," he said. "He…he kept touching me, and…"

"Where did he touch you?" Liza asked.

Kurt pressed his lips together. "He just…"

"We need to have the details, Kurt," Liza said. "Every detail that you can remember. It's important. Where did-"

"He was trying to get me off, okay?" Kurt burst out. His face was flushed, but his eyes had gone pale and glassy. "He had his hand down my pants and he was trying to get me off. Like…like he thought it was hot or something."

Burt turned away, leaning heavily on the windowsill. Finn dropped his head in his hands, almost covering his ears, almost like he couldn't bear to hear it anymore. Blaine froze where he was, unable to move. Only Carole stayed the same. She stayed close to Kurt, rubbing her hand rhythmically over his, firm and reassuring. Kurt's knuckles turned stark white.

"I…I don't know how long he kept it up," he said, his chest heaving. "I just…I can't remember. I was screaming…I don't, I don't even know what I was saying, but I just kept screaming, and then that made him angry and he…he hit me."

Kurt bit down hard on his lip. The color drained slowly from his face. "He kept slamming me against the car," he said. "And he…he just kept hitting me, and…and…" His voice trailed off. His eyes had gone vacant again, and his mouth kept opening and closing like he was gulping for breath. "I don't remember. I…I can't, I can't remember, I don't know what happened, I don't…"

He was too far gone by then, shaking violently, tears threatening to spill over. Carole moved closer to him and pulled him into her arms. "Sh, honey," she murmured, rubbing her hand against his back. His hospital gown gaped over his spine, showing the line of bumps and a patchy scattering of bruises. Kurt buried his face in Carole's shoulder.

Liza cleared her throat. "Who found him?" she asked.

"We did," Blaine said, pushing away from the wall.

"Can you say your names and relationship to the victim, for the record?" she asked.

"Blaine Montrose," he said. "I go to school with Kurt, I'm one of his friends."

Finn pushed himself back up. His face had gone blotchy, but he looked more stunned than teary. "Finn Hudson," he said. "I'm…I'm Kurt's brother."

"When did you find him?" she asked.

Finn opened his mouth to talk, then looked desperately up at Blaine, unable to speak. "It was around eleven-thirty, I think," Blaine said. "When Kurt didn't come home, we went to look for him at Dalton, since that was the last place we saw him."

"He was in his car," Finn said. "We saw his car in the lot, and the door was open and he was sitting in the driver's seat."

"Kurt?" Liza ventured. "Do you remember how you got to your car?"

He shook his head. Carole curved her hand over the back of his neck and kissed his forehead, still speaking softly to him.

"Finn was the one who got him out of the car," Blaine said.

"Was he responsive?" Liza asked.

"He was kind of talking," Finn said. "He didn't seem like…like he really knew what was going on."

"We took him straight to the hospital," Blaine said. "They wouldn't let us stay with him, but I know they did some kind of test for sexual assault."

Liza nodded. "They weren't able to collect much, but the DNA we could gather, along with the photographs of the bruising and Kurt's testimony, will be enough for us to get started," she said. "We already sent a team out to Dalton Academy. Kurt's story corroborates with what we've found so far."

"What have you found?" Burt said in a rough voice, his hands gripping the windowsill. He still hadn't turned around.

"We found an academy blazer and a boy's coat in the parking lot," she said. "The team is also going through Kurt's car, trying to get what we can from it."

"Will you let us know what you find?" Burt asked.

"Of course," Liza said. "I'll leave you my card." She checked the digital recorder. "Kurt, I have just a few more questions for you. Do you remember anything about your attacker? What he looked like, what he sounded like?"

Kurt pulled away from Carole. His face was red and his eyes were swollen, and it made Blaine's heart constrict. "I don't know," he said in a small voice. "I was too…I don't know. He was bigger than me, a lot bigger. I remember that. But…it was so dark, and I was…I was screaming, and…"

The color faded from his face. Carole tugged him against her again, resting his cheek against her shoulder and wrapping her arms around him securely. "Can't we let him take a break?" she begged.

"Sure," Liza said. She shut off the recorder and tucked it into her pocket. "Here's my card. We'll be in touch. And please, if you remember anything else, Kurt, let us know, all right?"

Kurt didn't look up from Carole's shoulder. Blaine silently took the business card she offered and slipped it in the back pocket of his jeans. The detective left quietly, leaving them alone to process what had just happened.

Blaine heard a soft, strangled sound. He glanced over to see Kurt's slender shoulders heaving as Carole smoothed her fingers through his hair. Burt still had his back to them, his big, rough hands gripping the windowsill, and Blaine wondered if he was crying too.

The door tapped open and a young, pretty nurse stepped in. "Hi," she said softly. "The detective said you might need something for the pain."

Carole nodded. "I think he's running a fever too," she said.

The nurse walked over to the hanging IV bag and injected something into it. "This will help, but it's going to make you awfully sleepy," she warned.

Burt turned around. Blaine couldn't tell if he was upset or not, but Burt walked over to his son and put his hand against his cheek. "You go ahead and get some sleep, kiddo," he said softly. "We'll be here when you wake up. Don't worry."

Kurt looked up. "Carole?" he said. "Can…can you stay with me?"

"Sure, honey," she said immediately. Blaine glanced away as she kissed Kurt on the forehead. He was already getting sleepy, leaning heavily against his stepmother's shoulders with his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Burt walked over to Finn. "Come on, kid," he said gently, dropping his hand on his broad shoulder. "Let's go. Give him some space."

Blaine followed them out into the hall, the door swinging shut behind them. Finn rummaged in his pocket for his phone. "Crap, I have like ten missed calls," he mumbled. He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, and he hit redial. "Hey, Rach, sorry I couldn't…what? You're what? With who? Are you serious?"

Blaine raised a thick eyebrow at him as they walked into the lobby. Finn covered the receiver. "Rachel's on her way," he whispered. He pulled his hand away. "Rachel, this is really not a good idea. He's not even awake right now. He's…no, he's not going to…Rachel, seriously?"

Blaine rolled his eyes as he took a seat in the small waiting area of the pediatrics wing. Finn scowled at his phone. "Rachel, you should just go home, okay?" he said. "Kurt's really tired. He's not up for…what? No, no, I'm doing all right. I'm just fine. It's…Rachel?"

He stared at his phone, shocked. "What's wrong?" Blaine asked.

"She hung up on me," he said. "And apparently she's almost here."

"She's coming here?" Blaine said.

"Uh-huh," Finn said. He sighed. "It sounds like she can't tell if she's more worried about Kurt being beat up, or how I'm handling it."

Blaine sort of smiled, sitting down beside him and resting his chin on his hand. "Maybe it'll help you," he said. "You seem sort of…rattled."

Finn sighed. He slumped back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. "Kind of," he confessed quietly. "I just…I don't know who could possibly do this to him. He's…I mean…ugh, I don't know. I just don't know." He glanced up at Blaine. "I mean, he's never even kissed a guy before. Now…this."

Blaine bit back the words he wanted to say. It wasn't his place. It still wasn't his place. But maybe…if there was still even the slightest, barest chance that Karofsky was the one who did this, he would say something. Or get Kurt to say something about it.

The ward doors banged open and a petite brunette stormed in, followed closely by two other girls. Blaine half rose from his chair. "Mercedes?" he said.

She turned and ran towards him. "Blaine, is he okay?" she demanded. She grabbed his arms. "You gotta tell me what's going on."

Blaine held onto her elbows, bracing her. "He's doing okay," he reassured her. "He's really tired and they're going to keep him in the hospital for a few days, but he's going to be fine."

Mercedes bit back tears. "All I know is that Rachel called me like two hours ago and asked what was wrong with Kurt," she said. "I told her I didn't know, and she told me that he was in the hospital, and that I should get over here."

The petite brunette brushed past them; Blaine vaguely remembered Kurt introducing her to him as Finn's girlfriend Rachel. "Are you all right?" she asked, latching her arm around Finn's. "Are you hungry? I mean, I know that when you're usually stressed, it makes you hungry, so I brought you some snacks in case you wanted them."

"No, no, I'm fine," he said, disentangling his girlfriend from his arm. "Look, Rachel, I told you not to come."

"I couldn't help it," Rachel stammered. "You're in so much shock that you didn't remember to tell me that you couldn't make our mall date this morning, and…and…your stepbrother is in the _hospital_, Finn, aren't you upset?"

Finn blinked. "Yeah, I'm upset," he said. "I'm really upset, but Rach, I told you not to come."

"Since when have we ever listened to you?" the third girl said, but she said it almost gently. She walked over to Blaine, swishing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "I don't think we've met. Who are you?"

"Blaine Montrose," he said, offering his hand. "I'm…I'm one of Kurt's best friends at Dalton."

She put her small hand in his and shook it. "Quinn Fabray," she said. "One of Kurt's friends from New Directions. Now, tell us why Kurt has to be here."

Blaine sat down. Mercedes and Quinn sat down across from him. "Finn and I went looking for him last night when he didn't come home," he said, working to keep his voice gentle. Finn sat down next to him with Rachel so close that she was practically in his lap. "We found him in his car. Someone had beaten him up and left him there."

Mercedes covered her mouth. Quinn put her hands on the armrests and leaned forward. "How bad?" she demanded.

Blaine sighed and rubbed his temples. "The first thing we saw was the black eye and the bloody nose," he said. "But he had a bad gash on the back of his head. Some internal contusions...a couple of broken ribs, a twisted shoulder, and a lot of bruises. And he had hypothermia; he was out there for a long time in just his shirt."

"Is that all?" Rachel breathed.

Mercedes threw her hands up. "Oh, really?" she said, her voice shaking. "'Is that all'? Is that all you can say? Wish there was more?"

"No," Rachel said, blinking. "No, I just…" She shrank back against the protection of Finn's arm. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say."

Finn didn't look up from the floor. "Tell them, Blaine," he said. "They might as well know all of it."

"Are you sure?" Blaine said. "Will Kurt-"

"Kurt isn't going to tell them himself, and they need to know," Finn said. "Go on. Tell them."

Blaine looked from Mercedes and her trembling lips to Quinn and her piercing green eyes. "Kurt was sexually assaulted," he said, relieved to hear how calm and even his voice was.

"What?" Rachel sputtered.

"You mean he was raped?" Quinn demanded.

"No, no, it wasn't so far as that," Blaine said. "But he's really shaken up by it. The detective left right before you got here."

"You got the police involved?" Rachel said.

"Of course we did," Finn said. "We have to find whoever did this."

"They're launching a formal investigation," Blaine said.

Mercedes stood up. "I have to see him," she said.

Blaine scrambled to his feet. "No, no, I don't think it's a good idea," he said, trying to catch up to her. "He's exhausted. He was about to fall asleep when we left."

"I have to see him," Mercedes said resolutely. "You got to see him."

"Yeah, but I'm his brother," Finn said. "And Blaine's his…" He paused. "Blaine's one of his best friends, I guess."

"So am I," Mercedes argued.

"Finn and I were the ones that found him," Blaine said. "Really, you guys, he needs to sleep."

Rachel followed them. "We just want to see how he's doing," she said.

"Rach, even if Kurt was awake, I don't think he'd really want to talk to you right now," Finn said, loping after them. "His hair's all messed up and stuff, and he looks like crap, and you know how he is about stuff like that."

Blaine got to the front door of Kurt's room before Mercedes could and slid in front of it. Finn slipped in next to him, his arms folded across his chest. "Mercedes, I know you're concerned about Kurt, but he really needs to rest," he said.

"Yeah," Finn echoed. "You guys are totally not going in there."

"We just want to check on him!" Rachel protested.

"Just for a few seconds," Mercedes pleaded.

"What are you girls doing here?"

The girls whirled around to see Burt. He stood behind them with a cup of coffee in his hands. "We came to see Kurt," Mercedes said.

Burt put his hand on her shoulder. "I really appreciate you coming out here, and I know it'll mean a lot to Kurt," he said. "But he's really worn out. He needs his sleep. And I don't know if he's ready for visitors." He shifted the hot cup from one hand to the other. "Let him rest. When he wakes up, we'll let him know you're here, but wait for him to ask to see you, all right?"

Mercedes looked like she was going to cry, but then Quinn walked up and tucked one arm around her waist, and the other through the crook of Rachel's arm. "We'll wait until he's ready," she said quietly.

Blaine watched them head back towards the waiting room. Burt cleared his throat. "You boys had probably better go with them," he said.

"What? Why?" Finn stammered.

Burt took a sip of his coffee. "Because Kurt's sleeping," he said. "Carole's with him, and I'm sure that if he wakes up and wants to see any of you kids, we'll let you now first thing. All right?"

Finn frowned, but Blaine took him by the arm. "You promise you'll get us the second he wakes up?" he said.

"I swear," Burt said.

Blaine silently tugged Finn back towards the waiting room. The girls stared them down as they walked in and sat down across from them. None of them really spoke to each other, so they sat in their awkward silence for quite a while.

Burt stopped by on occasion. Sometimes he would just pause for a moment, long enough to let them know if there were any changes. Sometimes he would sit down next to Finn, sinking into the uncomfortable chair and resting his head in his hands. No one ever really said much at those points. Burt would just stare blankly at the opposite wall, his eyes half-lidded, lost in his own thoughts. After a while he would get up with a heavy sigh and walk back down the hall to his son's hospital room.

Finally, though, Burt walked over to them and sort of grinned. "Are you kids just going to sit there all day?" he said. "C'mon. You've got to be hungry. Let's go."

"Go where?" Finn asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"The hospital cafeteria isn't all that fancy, but it's better than nothing," Burt said.

Blaine followed the group down the hall. His stomach rumbled a little; he hadn't even realized he was hungry. He felt someone take hold of his sleeve, and he glanced down at Mercedes.

"You think he's going to ask for us soon?" she asked in a low voice.

"I'm sure he will when he's completely awake," he said. She didn't seem reassured, so he put his arm around her shoulders. "The panikillers they give him make him really tired, so he probably hasn't been awake enough to know what's going on. I'm sure he wants to see you."

She still didn't seem convinced, no matter what he said. Blaine bit back a sigh and held the door open as they walked into the hospital cafeteria. "Get whatever you want," Burt said. "Don't worry about it."

Blaine followed Finn and Mercedes. Finn was starting to perk up a little bit at the sight of food; Rachel kept her hand on the small of his back and was chattering brightly, apparently trying to keep him in his improved mood. Blaine picked up a tray. He didn't like the thought of letting Kurt's father pay for his dinner, but he knew it would hurt Burt's pride if he refused. Like father, like son, he supposed, and he picked up a bowl of pasta.

He ended up by the register next to Quinn, who held a cobb salad and a bottled water on her tray, and Burt, who pulled his worn leather wallet out of his back pocket. The old torn wallet fell open as he opened it up to take out a card, and Blaine caught sight of a thick centerfold packet of small photographs. He was pretty sure that the top picture was a photograph of a baby, and he smiled to himself. Kurt was probably a ridiculously cute baby.

The six of them found an empty table in the quiet cafeteria and sat down. Blaine found himself flanked by Mercedes on his left and Burt on his right; Quinn sat down across from them. "So, Mr. Hummel," she said, taking a dainty bite of her salad. "Are those Kurt's baby pictures in your wallet?"

Burt grinned. "He's always bugging me about those," he said. "Says they're embarrassing."

"Ooh, I want to see them," Mercedes said.

Burt pulled his wallet back out and took out the photographs. Everyone leaned in to take a look, Blaine included. He couldn't help it. And besides, everyone else was doing it too.

The first photograph was a picture of a young woman sitting on a swingset, barefoot and smiling. She cuddled a baby, maybe five or six months old, on her lap. "That's him and his mom," Burt explained.

"Oh, she's so pretty," Rachel exclaimed.

"Kurt got his looks from her," Burt said. He flipped to the next one; the same young woman was sitting at a kitchen table, still holding the baby. There was a small cake with one candle on the table, and chocolate frosting was smeared everywhere, even in the woman's hair. But both of them were laughing. "That was his first birthday," Burt said.

"I think that's the only time I've seen him messy, and actually happy about it," Mercedes snickered.

"Oh, this one's kind of embarrassing," Burt said. "For me, at least."

Blaine suppressed a grin. Little Kurt, maybe three or four years, sat at a little white table with a cape around his tiny shoulders and a gold crown perched on the top of his head. He smiled brightly at the camera. His mother sat beside him in a pink lacy dress and a gold tiara, and she held a little teapot in her hands. She was smiling wickedly, however, at a man who could only be Burt Hummel, just younger and not quite as bald, who had somehow been roped into wearing a paisley tie and suitcoat over his work clothes and held out a teacup. Nevertheless, he was smiling, despite his appearance and his wife's apparent teasing.

Finn started howling. "Has Mom seen that one?" he laughed. "Oh, man, that's hilarious."

Burt shook his head, still grinning, and turned to the next one. Blaine smiled at the familiar sight of Cinderella's castle in Disney World. Kurt's mother stood in front of the castle, smiling even though she looked paler and thinner than she had in previous photographs. She wore a white eyelet dress and a ribbon in her hair, and her clear blue-green eyes were the exact same as her son's. Kurt stood beside her, one little hand clutched in his mother's. He was smiling so broadly it looked like his face was going to split in half, and he hugged a large cuddly Ariel doll under his arm.

"He's so cute," Quinn smiled.

"First trip to Disney," Burt said. "It was for his eighth birthday. We thought about waiting till he was maybe a little taller so he could get on more rides, but we, uh…" He cleared his throat. "Mollie passed away about a month after this."

Blaine looked down at the table. He knew Kurt's mother had died when he was a child, but he had never told him any details. But now he knew that her name had been Mollie, and she had been young and pretty when she died, and she had obviously adored her little boy. No wonder Kurt didn't like to talk about her.

Burt quietly turned to the next photograph, and Blaine nearly choked. Kurt was older in this picture, maybe eleven, and he was scowling fiercely. He was dressed in a tee shirt, a zipup hoodie, and jeans, and there was an actual, genuine _baseball cap _on his head. He sat in front of a tent set up in the woods, pouting at the camera with his lower lip stuck out. And to make it even cuter, he had a faint sprinkling of freckles across his nose.

"Oh, Mr. H, don't tell me you tried to take Kurt camping," Mercedes laughed.

"He liked it when he was little," Burt defended. "He was getting all rebellious on me at this point. And believe me, I didn't try to take him camping again after that."

He turned to the last picture. Blaine smiled. This was almost the Kurt he knew, just a little bit shorter, and a little bit more baby-faced. He was standing in front of what he recognized to be Kurt's beloved jet black Lincoln Navigator, but Kurt had his hands over his mouth and looked like he was jumping up and down in excitement. He was also wearing a gaudy silver tiara that had "birthday princess" spelled out in pink sparkly letters.

"Was that his birthday?" Rachel asked.

"Sweet sixteen," Burt nodded. He grinned. "He tried to tell me that tiara was just a gag gift from friends at school, but he's not really a good liar. Found the packaging and the receipt in his trash can." He shook his head. "And he thought I didn't know he was gay."

"Well, _I _didn't know," Mercedes said, smiling, and Quinn laughed lightly.

Blaine jumped back a little bit when Burt unexpectedly turned to him. "He came out to me last fall," he said. "Poor kid was scared half to death. He had no clue that I'd been waiting for him to say that since he was three."

"Three?" Blaine said, raising an eyebrow.

Burt flipped back to the photograph of toddler Kurt having a tea party with his parents. "I took him and his mom shopping, and Kurt was just all over the place, trying to help Mollie pick out shoes," he said. "He was fascinated. I thought he was just being cute, y'know, trying to help his mommy, and then all of a sudden he turns to me with a pair of high heels in his little hands and says 'Daddy, I want these for me'."

"Fashion forward, even as a toddler," Mercedes said.

Blaine suppressed a grin at the thought of a toddler version of Kurt, starry eyed with a pair of high heels in his hands. Suddenly Rachel leaned around the table. "How old were you when you came out, Blaine?" she inquired.

"Rachel," Finn hissed.

"No, it's okay," Blaine said. "I came out to my family the summer before my freshman year. It took some getting used to for them, but they've always been very supportive."

Burt squeezed his shoulder. "I'm glad," he said, his gray eyes falling serious. "You kids…you've got enough going on without your families giving you a hard time too." He looked down at his watch. "I'm going to go see if Kurt's awake. I'll call you if he's up, Finn."

"Can't you text?" Finn asked, slightly teasing. Burt shook his head, almost smiling, and left the cafeteria. Blaine turned his attention back to his pasta while the others started up a conversation. He stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts.

Quinn bussed their table as they finished eating, stacking their trays and sorting their dishes. She tapped her finger lightly on the rim of Blaine's empty plate and he nodded, leaning back so she could take it. "Has Burt called?" she asked Finn.

He checked his phone. "Nope," he said. He frowned. "Can we go up and check on Kurt anyway? I kinda want to see him."

"Of course you do," Rachel said, immediately jumping up.

Blaine followed them, trailing behind as Rachel latched onto Finn's arm and Mercedes tagged along. "So, Blaine," Quinn said. "When did you meet Kurt?"

"When you guys sent him to spy on us before sectionals," Blaine said with the hint of a smirk. "He was a terrible spy, but…we ended becoming friends."

"And you've been helping him adjust to Dalton?" Quinn asked.

He nodded. "He's been doing really well," he said. "His grades have been great, and he's been a fantastic addition to the Warblers. And he's a little shy, but he's been making a lot of friends."

"Shy?" Quinn said. "He's never been really like that around us. Usually we can't get Kurt to turn it down."

Blaine frowned. Kurt usually stayed fairly quiet when he was around other Dalton guys. He smiled and laughed at the right points in conversation, and he certainly didn't have any enemies. But he usually didn't try to start anything, or make himself the center of attention, or even really offer his opinions on things.

Except for his first dismal Warblers rehearsal, when they shot his ideas down. And his first solo audition, when he sang his heart out, only to be told to blend in.

_He _told Kurt to blend in.

"I'd like to see how he is around you," he said quietly. "He talks about you all a lot. I know he misses being a part of New Directions."

"And we miss him," Quinn said. "I told Rachel not to tell anyone else about what's happening, otherwise I'm sure the entire club would be camped out in the waiting room with us."

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

Quinn cast him a sideways glance. "I know Kurt," she said simply. "Whenever he's tired, or sick, or unhappy, he would rather lie his face off than let anyone know how awful he feels. It'll be probably be bad enough for him to know that Mercedes is here, let alone Rachel."

"What about you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I was with Mercedes when Rachel called her. It was either go with them or let Mercedes work herself into a panic," she said. She bit her lip. "Kurt and I were really good friends last year when I was…when I was going through a rough time, and I wanted to be here for him."

She held her head high, but he couldn't help but wonder that underneath, she was upset. He put his hand lightly on her arm. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you when he wakes up," he said.

She didn't answer, just smiled that small enigmatic smile as they walked up to Kurt's room. Carole had just walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her. "Mom," Finn said, picking up his pace. "How is he? Is he awake?"

"Sort of," Carole smiled. "He's woken up a few times today, but he would only last about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before he fell back asleep. We haven't been able to keep him awake enough to eat anything until just now."

"Can we see him?" Mercedes asked eagerly.

"I don't see a problem with it, if you don't stay too long," Carole said. "But he's a little out of it, between the painkillers and his fever." She put her hand on Mercedes' shoulder. "And you have to remember, honey, he doesn't look very good."

She nodded, obviously eager to go in and see her best friend. "We'll be good," she promised.

Carole opened the door. "Don't get him too worked up," she warned. "And his dad's with him, so if you do get him worked up, he'll kick you out."

Blaine followed close behind Mercedes and peeked into the room. Kurt was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows and picking at a tray of food set up in front of him. Mercedes paused for a split second at the sight of the bruises and the IV, but she recovered quickly. "Hey, baby," she said.

He looked up. "Mercedes," he said, drawing her name out in a sleepy whine. He smiled for a moment, then frowned. "I look awful."

"You don't need to worry about it," she said.

He plucked at the neckline of his hospital gown. "I look like crap," he whined, drawing his lips down in a pout. Mercedes laughed and hugged him gingerly.

Finn stood at the foot of Kurt's bed, his hands in his pockets. "You feeling better than you did this morning?" he asked.

"What happened this morning?" Rachel asked. Finn shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

Kurt smiled. "I feel great," he said dreamily, gesturing with his spoon in his good hand. "Hey, where'd all you people come from? This morning it was just Dad, and Mom, and Finn, and…" He frowned. "Where's Blaine? Did Blaine go home?"

"I'm right here," he said, stepping around Rachel. Blaine resisted the urge to flush when he saw the way Mercedes was smirking at him.

Kurt leaned back against the pillows. "Yay," he said.

Burt stood up from his seat next to Kurt's bed. "Kiddo, you need to eat," he urged patiently.

Kurt raised his empty spoon and scowled at it. "I thought I was done," he said.

Burt smoothed his hair. "I think having visitors is too much of a distraction," he said. "We need to get him to eat something before he falls back asleep. You kids might have to head out."

Mercedes' face fell, and Blaine didn't blame her. "Then we'll come back tomorrow," Quinn said.

"Really?" Finn said. "It's a two hour drive. And don't you have church tomorrow?"

"I think Jesus will be fine with me skipping church to be with Kurt," Mercedes said, tugging lightly on his earlobe. Kurt flashed her a sleepy and slightly confused thumbs up.

Someone knocked lightly on the door. "I hope I'm not intruding," the detective said. She stepped into the room with a large brown paper bag in her hands, the top folded down and stapled. "We finished processing some of Kurt's things. We don't need to retain any of them for evidence, so I thought I would bring them back."

Blaine took the bag from her and handed it to Kurt's father. "You come across anything yet that can help?" Burt asked.

"The hospital provided us Kurt's clothes, the ones he was wearing when he was attacked," Liza said. "We're still processing them, along with his school blazer. And we're going through his car, too, to see if we can find anything there."

The room had fallen silent. Quinn looked like she was frozen in place; Rachel looked doe-eyed in shock. Mercedes had taken hold of Kurt's hand. Kurt seemed unaffected, staring down at his plate. Blaine supposed he was still too out of it to fully realize what was going on.

Burt pried the staples open and lifted out first Kurt's black winter coat, then his messenger bag. An unexpected pang shot through Blaine's heart. He was the last person to see Kurt wearing that coat, with that bookbag slung over his shoulder. Kurt had been happy then, and smiling, his eyes shining bright blue and his cheeks rosy in the cold. He been unrelentingly adorable, and for a second, Blaine wished he could go back in time and wrap his arm around Kurt's shoulders, kiss him on the forehead, and tell him to come home.

Too bad that would never, ever happen.

The door opened again, this time to admit the same young nurse who had come in earlier. "Wow, someone's certainly popular," she said.

"Hi, Penny," Kurt said drowsily, still waving the spoon. "Mercedes, Mercedes, this is Penny. She's my nurse. She's nice to me."

Penny smiled as she took Kurt's temperature and monitored his IV drip with practiced ease. "Your fever is still too high," she warned him gently. "You need to take it easy."

"We should probably head out pretty soon," Burt said.

"Mmkay," Kurt said. He scooted towards the edge of his bed.

"Oh, no, you're staying put," Penny said.

Burt patted his knee. "Carole's going to stay with you tonight," he said. "But we'll stay with you just a little longer, all right?"

Finn leaned over the foot of Kurt's bed and cracked some kind of joke about the state of his hair. He screwed up his face, and Quinn laughed as Mercedes pinched his cheek. Even Rachel joined in, and Blaine sat on the outskirts, smiling vaguely to no one in particular.

He wished he was closer to Kurt. Closer, like they were close to him. Maybe even close enough to hold his hand, or hug him, or kiss him on the cheek.

But he wasn't as close to him as they were, and besides, now wasn't the time. Not when Kurt was like this. Kurt needed a mentor, not a crush.

So he stayed out of the way of Kurt's brother and their friends, part of the group and yet left out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Oh, Blaine. You and your knight-in-shining-armor angst.

Hopefully this chapter is a little bit less scary. The beginning is really intense, but I tried to soften the ending with some sweet moments, especially since the next two chapters are very much so on the intense side.

Also, I'm writing the third chapter from this one, and you should be excited about the amount of Klaine that is coming up.

But yeah. This story is really intense.

On a lighter note, Kurt's "birthday princess" tiara is inspired by the one that Kat got me for my bachelorette party. Gaudy as all get out, and I loved it. I wore it all over Nashville. You know, I might have to write a oneshot based on my bachelorette party, seeing as how the evening ended at 2am at an IHOP with two adorable yet _very _drunk gay guys fussing over me because I was a cute little bride, and then one of them fell in love with my sister's thrift store coat and tried to put it on, but it was too small.

I am majorly digressing, but dude, this story is wearing me out. I need to go write something funny.

But, on a parting note, thank you so much for all the alerts, favorites, and reviews. And please, if you like this story (or any story you stumble across on this vast site), leave a review for the author. Even just one kind word can turn an author's day around and motivate them to write more. And for those who have left kind words, you are blessed saints and you have no idea how much I appreciate you.


	6. On the Night I Die

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

He stood up, hot and panting, as the coach blew her whistle. "All right, boys, fifteen minute break," she hollered. "Go inside, drink something. We'll do wind sprints when we're back."

He followed them inside, trailing at the end of the pack. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his shirt and sticking it to his skin. The locker room door slammed behind him. He winced. The hangover from last night was formidable.

A big hand clamped down on his shoulder and he jumped. "Shit, man, where've you been?" Azimio laughed. "Haven't seen you since the party last night."

"Uh, yeah," he stammered stupidly.

Trent Andrews dumped his pads on the floor. "Did you nail that chick?" he asked.

"Which chick?" he said.

Azimio howled. "You don't remember?" he asked. "Dude, how many beers did you have?"

Trent nudged him. "It was probably that blonde Westerville cheerleader," he said. "Was it her?"

"Uh," he stammered. He sat down hard on a bench. "Yeah, yeah, it was."

They started laughing and egging him on, asking him for details, and he made them up dully on the spot, coming up with the whole lewd story while on autopilot.

_Maybe that was what happened_, he thought. _Maybe I just made out with a chick, but I was so drunk I dreamed about...about him instead._

Puckerman sauntered over to them. "You seriously did it with a Westerville girl?" he said. "Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"So?" Trent scoffed.

"So that's cheating," Puckerman said.

"Since when do you have morals?" Azimio snorted.

Puckerman looked hurt. "Cheating sucks, man," he said. "I don't do it anymore. Finn didn't talk to me for weeks after he found out I slept with Quinn."

Trent frowned and glanced around the locker room. "Hey, where is Hudson?" he said.

"He's not here," the wheelchair kid said from across the room.

"It's weird," Chang said, looking thoughtful. "He's never missed a practice before.."

Evans shrugged, raking his fingers through his shaggy bleach-blond hair. "Hey, gives me a chance to show Coach I can be quarterback," he shrugged.

Puckerman scowled. "No, dude, something has got be up," he said. He stalked over to his locker and pulled his phone out.

"Maybe he got that midget to finally put out and he's busy nailing her," Azimio snickered.

Puckerman held up a warning hand, his phone caught between his shoulder and his ear. "Shut up," he said. "Rachel's a good Jewish girl."

Azimio muttered a slur-filled crack at Trent, who stifled a laugh. He kept sitting on the bench, staring at the dirty floor, the sounds of the locker room roaring in his ears.

Puckerman snapped his phone shut. "Didn't answer," he said.

"Leave a message," Wheels suggested.

"You kidding? Finn has no clue how to check a voicemail," Puckerman said. He rubbed his hand over his mohawk. "He didn't answer. That's no good."

"Maybe he's sick," Chang offerd.

"Try calling Kurt," Wheels said. "He probably knows what's up."

Azimio and Trent were still talking over his head while they leaned against the lockers. He stayed silent as Puckerman dialed the number. His heart had begun to thump, heavy and fast. This was it. Puckerman would talk to Kurt, and it would be fine. This would prove, once and for all, that it was just a nightmare. Then life could go on like normal.

Puckerman pulled the phone away from his mouth and covered the receiver. "He's not answering," he said.

"Leave a message," Evans urged. "At least Kurt checks his voicemail."

So Hummel wasn't answering.

Maybe it was because he couldn't answer.

"Uh, yeah, hey, Kurt," Puckerman said. "It's Puck. Listen, we're at practice, and we wanna know where Finn's at. And, uh...everything okay? 'Cause you always answer your phone. So, uh, just call us back, okay?" He shut his phone. "Dude, something is way wrong."

"You think something's up with Hudson?" Trent said. "Think he'll be back for the game next weekend?"

"I can fill in," Evans protested.

Puckerman shook his head. "Guys, I think this bad," he said.

Wheels rolled a little closer to him. "You think Kurt's dad had another heart attack?" he asked quietly.

The locker room door busted open. "You got five minutes, ladies," Coach Beiste bellowed. "I don't see you hydrating, and I'm not dragging your sorry asses to the ER if you keel over on the field."

"Coach, do you know where Finn is?" Puck asked.

The usually irascible coach softened a little bit. "Family emergency," she said.

"Is it his stepdad?" Chang asked.

She shook her head. "No, his stepbrother," she said. "Didn't he tell you?"

"No," Chang said, standing up slowly.

"What's wrong with Kurt?" Wheels asked.

Coach Beiste surveyed the now-silent locker room. "Hudson's mom gave me a call this morning," she said. "His stepbrother's in the hospital. He had some kind of accident."

_It couldn't have been him._

Puckerman sank down to the bench. "Is...is he going to be okay?" Evans asked.

"I don't know any details, kids," she said. "They just found him in the parking lot of that school he goes to."

_No._

"His mom said he's hurt pretty bad."

_It couldn't be true._

"Was it a car accident?" Wheels asked.

Coach Beiste sighed. "I don't know," she said. "You can talk to Hudson after practice." She checked her wristwatch. "The break's over. C'mon, boys, back on the field."

The others brushed past him as the coach ushered them out of the locker room. He still sat on the uncomfortable wooden bench, still staring at the dirty floor, still listening to the rapid, heavy, aching thump of his heartbeat. The world moved around him while he sat still.

A pair of feet in football cleats halted in front of him, directly in his line of vision. He didn't move.

"Hey."

He looked up slowly, dully. "What do you want, Puckerman?" he asked.

Puckerman stared him down, his clear eyes dark and hard. "You know anything about this?" he asked.

He got up from the bench. "Why should I?" he said.

Puckerman dogged his steps. "Because you're the one that forced Kurt outta here in the first place," he said.

He forced himself to laugh. "Why do you care so much about the little fairy?" he snorted. "You gone gay for Hummel?"

"He's my best friend's brother," Puck said. "And he's my friend. You think I'm just gonna not care that he's in the hospital?"

He ignored him and reached for his gear. Puckerman sidestepped him. "You've been real quiet today," he taunted. "Guilty conscience?"

That was too far.

He grabbed Puckerman by the front of his jersey and threw him back against the lockers. "I'm fucking hungover, Puckerman," he roared. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

Puckerman leaned back against the lockers, lips curled back, white teeth bared. "You better be glad I'm still on probation," he snarled in a low, threatening voice.

But he didn't see Puckerman up against those blood red lockers, he saw Hummel, pale and frightened, holding his slender hand to his kiss-swollen lips.

He ran out of the locker room and onto the field, gulping down ice cold air. Someone said something, but he didn't hear them, he just heard Hummel's screams and the crunch of fist to bone.

And as practice continued and time stretched on and his surroundings faded to a pale roar, his heart kept pounding, and it sounded like the same awful phrase.

_You did it...you did it...you did it..._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Another glimpse into the mind of Kurt's assailant. Hopefully you know who it is by now...(and no, it's not Blaine...)

I'm sorry I didn't post this yesterday like I planned. I was going to...but I ended up being out of my house for the entire day, so I didn't get a chance. However, I have written another chapter. It's nice to be ahead of the curve for once.

A word of fair warning: the next chapter is going to be intense. Very intense. It's the most difficult thing I've ever written, and when I post it (probably tomorrow or the day after), any kind of feedback whatsoever will be desperately appreciated. It was hard.


	7. I Swear I'll Sleep Outside Your Window

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

He stood in the Dalton parking lot beside his Navigator, but he paused as he unlocked the door and opened it up. "Oh, crap," he pouted.

Blaine looked up from his messenger bag, the keys to his car in his hand. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Kurt slammed the door shut and dug frantically through his book bag, not bothering to lock his car. "Oh, crap, I forgot something," he said. "Now I have to go back and get it."

Blaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Want me to wait?" he offered, his hazel eyes glowing and dancing in the white safety lights of the parking lot.

"No, it's okay," Kurt said. Blaine still didn't seem convinced, his lips drawing down a little bit, and he smiled at him. "Go on ahead. We're leaving a little late as it is, and they'll worry if we're not home soon. And believe me, my dad is a _champion _at worrying."

"All right," Blaine said, a little warily. "Your house is off exit 219, right?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "And you can call Finn if you get lost. He probably won't be able to explain anything, but he can hand the phone off to someone who can." He brushed his hair off his forehead. "Go on without me. I'll be right behind you, I promise."

Blaine gave him a long look, an odd warm light in his golden brown eyes, and finally smiled. "All right, then," he said. "I'll see you at the house."

Kurt waved as Blaine unlocked his car and revved the engine, then turned back towards the school. He would have to walk all the way around to the opposite end of the campus, towards the exterior entrance to the junior wing. They would be locking up soon- apparently all of Dalton shut down for teacher in-services- but if he hurried, he could probably get to his dorm room and back before he got stuck.

Besides, he didn't want to linger. Blaine was coming over. Blaine was going to stay with him for the entire long weekend.

He resisted the urge to skip.

It was going to perfect. He was determined. Tonight was family Friday night dinner, with his father and Carole and Finn. Tomorrow they would sleep in, and then hang out with the rest of New Directions, maybe at Breadstix. Sunday would be an all-day shopping marathon, probably with Mercedes, maybe Brittany and Quinn too.

Monday would be the best, though. On Monday they would spend the whole day together at home, just the two of them, while his parents were at work and Finn was at school. They would watch movies and he would impress Blaine with his cooking skills, and maybe, just maybe, he could manage to kiss him.

He could feel his cheeks turning pink; he didn't know if it was from the cold or from his happy daydreams of Blaine leaning in to kiss him. It was probably stupid of him to be this moony over Blaine, not when Blaine probably didn't think anything more of him than a shy young thing that needed protection and guidance. But still, that was better than nothing.

He walked up the steps to the junior dorm wing, stripping off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket. But when he grabbed the handle, he realized it was pointless. "Oh, damn," he sighed, jiggling the bronze doorknob. It refused to budge, not even the slightest bit.

He tried a little while longer, hoping that maybe the stupid door was sticking again, but it was all in vain. Heaving a reluctant sigh, he turned around and walked down the steps. At least it wasn't anything terribly important.

He slid his hands in his pockets, digging his cold fingers in the smooth, slippery lining. His coat hung open, and he knew he should probably button it, but his coat had _such _a nice lining, bright red with a small pindot pattern, and he really wanted Blaine to notice it. Granted, he didn't know if Blaine even had realized he was wearing a new designer label winter coat, but oh well.

He hummed lightly as he walked to his car, parked on the far edge of the lot. His breath puffed lightly in the cold air and his shoes made light crunching sounds on the smooth asphalt. He rounded the corner of the main building and frowned.

An SUV, an older model, was parked a few yards away from him. It didn't look like any of the cars that his fellow Dalton students drove, all of them shiny and new. And it certainly hadn't been there when he left. He glanced around the parking lot, his stomach suddenly twisting in anxiety, and he suddenly, irrationally hoped that Blaine hadn't left yet. His fingers gripped the shoulder strap of his messenger bag.

Suddenly he felt a huge hand grab him from behind, closing tightly around his wrist. He cried out as the hand forcibly yanked his arm back and behind his head, twisting his shoulder in directions it was never meant to bend. His messenger bag hit the ground hard.

"What are you doing?" he screamed. "What do you want?" He couldn't see his attacker's face; it was too dark, and he was looming above him at the wrong angle. Whoever it was yanked at the sleeves of his winter coat, pulling it off until it slid down his back and hit the ground. The cold air wrapped around him.

His breath came hard and fast as his mind raced. Was he being kidnapped? Or mugged? He was probably being mugged. A rich boys' school was the perfect target for a mugger.

"My wallet's in my coat pocket," he said, chest heaving, his voice rising. The big hand clenched over his wrist, stretching his shoulder in the wrong angle until it felt like it was about to pop. The mugger forced him backwards like he was leading in some sort of sick dance. "My wallet's in my pocket, you can take it, just take it, there's…there's a lot of cash in there, please, just take it."

His back slammed into the solid wall of the unfamiliar SUV, the handle digging sharply into his spine. The mugger pushed him back and pinned him against the car. Kurt couldn't see his face, just the shadow of a profile, and he almost didn't want to look.

He let go of Kurt's wrist and his arm fell to his side, limp and heavy, and he swallowed the urge to cry out again. For a second, in the absence of the mugger's hands, he had the sudden wild idea that he could fight back. He raised his leg to kick, but he wasn't fast enough.

The big hands reached for his face, closing around his chin and worming around to his neck, and suddenly Kurt found himself drawn up to his attacker's face. And he was kissing him.

His soft lips hit rough, chapped ones, hot and insistent against his. The kiss was sloppy; the mouth pressed against his was wet and tasted horribly like…like alcohol. Kurt clamped his lips shut and tried to move his leg up to kick, but he was at the wrong angle. He couldn't move.

His attacker bit on his lower lip, surprising him into opening his mouth as he let out a painful moan. Suddenly a tongue forced itself between his teeth. Kurt gagged, bringing his teeth down on the thick tongue, but it didn't seem to have any effect.

The mugger…well, he couldn't really be a mugger now, could he?- kept kissing him, wet and open-mouthed. Saliva dripped down Kurt's chin. The man's big, callused hands slid down the sides of his neck, pulling him towards him, his grip too tight and painful.

The hands kept creeping down, sliding down his neck and down his shoulders, between his shirt and his struggled to lock his arms in place, but his twisted shoulder just hung there, limp and throbbing, and suddenly the protective Dalton blazer was gone, just gone. The man clutched at him, pinning Kurt's arms between their bodies. Kurt grabbed uselessly at his shoulders, scrabbling at his jacket, trying to push him back.

The man ran his hands hungrily up and down his body, his hands hot and weighty. He slid his hands over Kurt's sides, his stomach, his ribcage, even plucked at his nipples through his thin uniform shirt. Kurt shivered, partially from the cold and partially from the awful, horrible, creepy feeling of someone, some stranger, feeling him up.

The man closed his hands over Kurt's slender hips, thumbing his protruding hip bones, and hefted him up. Kurt suddenly found himself balancing precariously against the side of the car, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground and the small of his back pressed against the cold metal of the car. He couldn't breathe anymore. His head swam. _This isn't happening, _he thought, still fighting to push the stranger's messy mouth away from his. _No, no, no, this isn't happening._

The man shoved his crotch up against him, grinding his erection against Kurt's pelvis. He cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth. _This isn't what I want, _he thought wildly. _I don't…no, I don't want it like this!_

He whimpered despite himself. Apparently that only served to catch his assailant's attention. He balanced Kurt against the car with one hand, still kissing him sloppily, and his other hand trailed over his chest, down to his stomach, and tucked into the waistband of Kurt's pants. Kurt's heart beat so fast he could feel it leaping against his collarbone. _Oh, God, no, _he thought.

The hot, clumsy fingers fumbled at the button on his gray uniform pants, digging it against his flat lower belly until it popped through. Then he closed around the zipper pull and tugged it down.

The big mouth broke away from him, and his breath was hot against Kurt's cold cheek. Kurt gasped for breath, sucking in freezing air. It seared his lungs and made his mouth go dry, but he didn't care. He could still taste him, though, him and the warm stinging taste of whiskey.

The stranger pulled back from him, smiling in a dazed, delirious sort of way. He leaned back for just a split second, but it was enough. Kurt's heart stopped beating as he recognized him.

David Karofsky.

He slumped against the car, his throat working compulsively. Karofsky gripped Kurt's waist, letting his unfastened pants slide down his hips, and he leaned close to him, resting his rough, stubbled cheek against Kurt's shoulder as he kissed him on his neck, right below his ear. Kurt turned his head away sharply, but it wasn't enough. Karofsky palmed greedily at his hips as he kissed down the side of Kurt's neck. Kurt tried to call out, to say something, anything, but no sound came out. He was too stunned, too scared.

Karofsky groaned into Kurt's neck as he lifted his hands up to the buttons on his shirt. He unbuttoned them slowly, prodding each one methodically through the embroidered holes until they fell loose.

"No," Kurt murmured as Karofsky trailed kisses down his neck and chest and stomach, kissing and sucking and biting at his cool pale skin. "No, no, you can't…I…I…"

His unbuttoned shirt hung around his slender body, no longer offering him protection from the cold or Karofsky's greedy mouth. Kurt shuddered as Karofsky clamped his death grip on his hips again, lifting him up and ramming his erection against Kurt's. He hadn't even noticed he was aroused, and dully he realized that he didn't feel anything. His body was just reacting to the physical stimulation, but he didn't feel turned on, like he always thought he would be when he finally had his first time. He just felt…numb.

Karofsky rotated his pelvis against his, grunting as he attempted to force Kurt to grind against him at the same pace. "No," Kurt said, his voice slowly gaining a little strength. "No, no, I don't want to, stop it, stop it, _stop!_"

Karofsky wrapped his left arm around Kurt's slender waist, bracing him between his bulk and the ice-cold car, and his right hand slid inside Kurt's boxer briefs. Kurt lurched forward, his mouth falling open in terror, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't manage to make any sound came out.

Karofsky clamped his hand around him, sliding his hand up and down in firm, measured strokes. "Stop!" Kurt sobbed, his voice finally working again. "Stop it, just stop! Stop!"

He raised both shaking hands, pushing past the pain in his shoulder, and shoved against Karofsky's chest. But his elbows were trembling, and even if he had been at full strength, without the added hindrance of panic, he wouldn't have been much of a match against David Karofsky's sheer size compared to him.

Karofsky leaned forward, nuzzling Kurt's neck, and groaned heavily. His hand continued its steady pumping. Kurt's chest heaved. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! You weren't supposed to find me here! I was safe here!

Karofsky leaned back, bleary-eyed and frowning. He pulled his hand out of Kurt's underwear and he sagged at the sudden, blessed absence. Karofsky wrapped his arms around him and leaned in to start another kiss, but Kurt turned his head away, slamming his temple against the cold window. He kissed his cheek instead, his lips soft and warm and wet.

"Stop it!" Kurt screamed. "I was safe here! I was safe here! _I was safe here!_"

Karofsky wrapped his arms under the backs of his thighs, forcing Kurt to wrap his legs around him, shoving their pelvises together. Dimly Kurt realized he was losing it. His emotions crashed, overlapped, terror and panic and the urge to sob and the awful realization that he was on the brink of climaxing. He kept screaming, his mind going blank and fuzzy. His throat ached with exertion, but his body was going limp and he couldn't make himself move. All he had left was his voice.

Karofsky pulled back from him. "Stop it," he mumbled in a thick, choked voice. He clamped his hand over Kurt's injured shoulder and shook him.

Kurt couldn't stop screaming. He was gone.

"Stop it," Karofsky demanded. "Stop it, stop screaming."

Kurt screamed, raw and high-pitched, echoing over the deserted parking lot, crisp and sharp in the cold hair. Something hard rammed into his stomach, pinning him to the car for a brief panic-stricken moment; Kurt choked at the sudden pain and the instant urge to vomit, but he kept screaming anyway.

"I said _stop it!_" Karofsky screamed right back, spitting in his face.

But Kurt couldn't stop.

A big fist pounded into his eye. His head shot back against the window and bounced back. The fist struck him in the face again, this time into his nose, and Kurt heard the nauseating crunch of bone and cartilage. Blood spurted in a sickening spray across Karofsky, seeping into the red of his letterman's jacket and splattering dark droplets across the white shirt he wore underneath it. Kurt felt hot blood drip down his face, dribbling down his chin and soaking his uniform shirt. The thick liquid seeped through his lips, filling his mouth with salt and copper.

Karofsky slammed him back against the car, ramming him repeatedly against the door, hard and rhythmic. Kurt slumped in his hands, still screaming. It was all he could do.

Karofsky staggered back. Kurt wavered on his feet and slid against the car until he hit the pavement. He still screamed, but his voice was hoarse and fading. Karofsky straddled him, pinning him to the ground. "I told you to _stop_," he rasped.

He wrapped his hands around Kurt's neck, lifted his head off the ground, and then shoved him back, digging the back of his head into the asphalt. Kurt's mouth gaped open as his air supply was cut off. He stared up into Karofsky's dull, reddened eyes, his lips still moving even though he couldn't muster any sound. The edges of his vision grayed, and with a soft, airless sigh, everything went black.

He didn't know how much time passed before his eyes cracked open, heavy and crusted. His lungs ached as he sucked in a mouthful of cold air. He gulped in another breath, eager and greedy, but residual congealing blood dripped down his throat. His stomach churned and he lurched to his side, vomiting onto the icy pavement.

He laid there for a little while, crumpled on the asphalt, his entire body shaking. The rough ground scraped against the soft, vulnerable skin of his bare chest; his splayed arms prickled as he tried to move them from their uncomfortable positions.

He thought he would hurt more, but he couldn't feel anything. He was just numb, and cold, and shaking.

Dazed, he raised his aching head from the ground. The unfamiliar SUV was gone, but he could see his own car, untouched, across the lot. His car. If he could get to his car, he could go home. If he could get home, he would be safe.

Safe.

Was he ever going to be safe again?

Kurt pressed his palms against the ground, relishing the sharp rough bite of the asphalt, and forced his trembling arms to bear his weight. His legs didn't seem to be injured, just weak. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling back and forth. His head swam as his horizon dipped around him, and he closed his eyes against the sudden urge to throw up again.

He just had to focus. That was all.

He placed one foot in front of the other, and his entire body rebelled in a sudden burst of pain. His knees shook wildly underneath him.

He couldn't pass out again. Not now. He needed…he needed to get to his car. If he got into his car, he could drive home, and if he could drive home, his dad would take care of everything and he would be safe.

All he wanted was to be safe. Was that too much to ask?

His whole body was throbbing, but he didn't know if it was from cold or from his injuries. Maybe it was both. He didn't know. He didn't know anything.

His pants kept sliding down his hips the farther he walked. His cold, frozen fingers tried to take hold of the zipper, the button, anything, but he couldn't grip anything. So he kept walking, still as stubborn as ever.

His vision faded in and out, making him waver on his feet, unable to balance anymore. He fell forward, stretching his hands out to catch his fall, and his half-frozen hand fell on the icy handle of his driver's side door. Kurt let out a sharp, hoarse, victorious bark, rattling at the handle. With both hands clamped down, he was able to press down and pull, the unlocked door swinging miraculously open.

Kurt stumbled forward, planting his hands on the front seat. He climbed up as best he could, his legs giving out from under him. It was just as cold in the car as it was outside, but this was it. He was in his car.

He settled gingerly into the driver's seat, forcing himself to curl his icy fingers around the wheel. Now…to drive home. He could do it. He could turn on the heat and drive to the safety of his home.

His fingers brushed against the empty ignition. Kurt whimpered.

He hadn't gotten his keys.

He looked desperately across the parking lot. It was too dark to see, but his broken heart sank as he realized dully that his blazer, his coat, and his messenger bag were left behind.

Kurt collapsed towards the steering wheel, his mouth falling open. His chest lurched in a tight sob, but all that came out was a moan. He closed his eyes and curled tightly against the steering wheel, his frozen body shuddering as he cried silently, without the soothing constancy of tears.

He sat there for a long time, cold and aching and fading slowly. By the time a brightly lit car pulled haphazardly into the space beside him and his brother tumbled out, calling his name, he was gone, absolutely lost.

* * *

Kurt's eyes flew open and he stared at the blank, bland ceiling tiles of his darkened hospital room. His chest heaved, and he could feel something hot and wet seeping down his cheeks.

Tears. He was crying.

He covered his face with his shaking hands. _It was just a dream, _he told himself. _A dream. That's all._

But he knew it wasn't. He knew that he could remember now, and he knew that it was Karofsky who had done this to him. Hunted him down and destroyed him.

His whole body trembled. It was like he was lost in the parking lot again, cold and terrified.

_Courage, _he told himself. _Courage._

He bit back a sob. He tried to have courage at McKinley, and that didn't work. He tried to have courage at Dalton, and that didn't work.

He saw Karofsky, looming over him in hallways and lunging at him in the locker room and grinding against him beside a parked car.

_Don't push me, Hummel._

_You tell anyone, I'll kill you._

_I told you to _stop.

Kurt gripped the thick, dense hospital blankets, digging his hands into the fabric until he could feel the IV needle straining against his skin. It made him feel sick. A lot of things were making him feel sick.

He couldn't tell. Couldn't ever tell. Or worse things would happen. He was sure of it.

"Kurt?"

He turned his head slightly to the side. Carole sat by his bed, sleepy but focused completely on him. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

He couldn't lie, but he didn't have to tell the truth either.

"I had a bad dream," he croaked, and his eyes burned.

She covered his hands with hers. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said. She stroked his hair back from his hot, sweaty forehead, and he resisted the panicked urge to shrink away. "What will help? Do you want a drink of water?"

He nodded, suddenly realizing that his mouth was dry and his throat was sore. Carole squeezed his hand and she got up, walking towards the little bathroom. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the faucet turning and the water pouring into a cup. She walked back over to him and placed the cup in his hands, wrapping his shaking fingers around it. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and lifted him up, and he drank eagerly, water spilling down his chin.

Carole waited until the cup was empty before helping him lie back down and taking it away. She rubbed her thumb against his cheek, and he knew she recognized the tears on his face. "I'm right here, baby," she said, her voice soft and low and soothing. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe now."

He closed his eyes as she kept murmuring to him, allowing her to lull him into sleepy security. He knew he wasn't safe. He knew he would never be safe again. But he was exhausted and feverish, and her hand was cool against his skin, and soon he fell into a light, listless sleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This is the hardest thing I've ever written.**  
**


	8. Should I Stop?

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

Blaine stumbled out the bathroom, yawning, and rubbed his towel over his damp curls. It was only seven, but he knew that Finn and Burt would be up soon, anxious to go back to the hospital and see Kurt. He plunked down at his desk and shook his computer mouse, shaking the screensaver away. A chat window popped up on the screen with a cheerful ding.

**babyinthecorner: **hey, blaine, what up?

He grinned. Francey never called him, but she texted or IM'd him at least once a week. He suspected it was her way of showing affection.

**blenderman92: **not much. home for the weekend.

**babyinthecorner: **liar liar plants for hire.

**blenderman92: **?

**babyinthecorner: **mom called and told me about your friend.

Blaine leaned back against his chair, frowning. _Dammit, _he thought. Francey wasn't going to take this lightly.

**babyinthecorner: **so this kid got raped, beat up, and he's stuck in the hospital?

**blenderman92: **he wasn't raped. assaulted but not raped.

**babyinthecorner: **oh like that's so much better. poor kid. he ok?

**blenderman92: **hes ok. theyre keeping him in the hospital for a few days.

**babyinthecorner: **you holding up?

**blenderman92: **as well as could be expected.

**babyinthecorner: **you better not be lying to me.

**blenderman92: **i'm fine. check w/ mom if you don't believe me.

**babyinthecorner: **fine I will.

**babyinthecorner: **and I know you blaine you are going to FREAK THE EFF OUT at some point.

He rolled his eyes. This wasn't like he was some hyperventilating fourteen-year-old anymore, he was almost eighteen and a lot tougher than his sister gave him credit for.

**blenderman92: **i'm fine.

**babyinthecorner: **you are totally going to flip your shit.

**blenderman92: **I WILL BE FINE FRANCES

**babyinthecorner: **sure fine whatever

**babyinthecorner: **so this boy…

Blaine groaned. The last thing he needed was Francey trying to get into his personal life.

**babyinthecorner: **he's a friend of yours from school?

**blenderman92: **yes

**babyinthecorner: **a warbler?

**blenderman92: **yes

**babyinthecorner: **his name's kevin, right?

**blenderman92: **kurt

**babyinthecorner: **ooh thaaaaaank you!

**blenderman92: **why?

**blenderman92: **what are you doing?

**blenderman92: **francey?

**blenderman92: **FRANCES

Blaine dropped his head in his hands. There was no telling what she was doing at this point. But if he knew his sister (and he did) she was probably trying to figure out his connection was to Kurt.

**babyinthecorner: **my google-fu tells me very little about this kurt hummel.

**babyinthecorner: **i am not pleased.

**blenderman92: **i'm ok w/ this.

**babyinthecorner: **tell me about him

**blenderman92: **i don't think so.

**babyinthecorner: **BLAINE

**babyinthecorner: **at least a picture

**Babyinthecorner: **I wont leave you alone until you send me one…

Blaine grunted at his computer screen. He wished fervently that he could just ignore her, but he knew she would make good on her threat. She had done it before, when he was dating his last boyfriend and he refused to tell her his name. For three days she bombarded his text inbox with various male names (and after a while, girl names and object names as well) until he finally broke down, called her at two in the morning after she had texted him the entire list of characters from the movie Newsies one by one, and screamed, "ALEX! HIS NAME'S ALEX, OKAY!"

So he pulled up Facebook and clicked on Kurt's profile. He kept his page fairly private and his friends list small- probably to prevent the McKinley jocks from leaving nasty comments on his wall. Blaine smiled at his profile picture, a photograph of Kurt and his family at the wedding. He looked adorable in his suit. But it wasn't quite the right picture to send to his nosy sister.

He clicked on the link to the pictures of Kurt and shifted through them. There were a few pictures from their recent sectionals performance, and he paused for a moment. But no, those were all group shots with the Warblers, and that seemed too impersonal.

There were a whole bunch of pictures from the wedding, and he thought about sending one of those. But those were mostly group shots too, and he wanted one of just Kurt.

His chat window pinged.

**babyinthecorner: **blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaine i am waiting and bored.

**babyinthecorner: **should i start sending you random pictures of what I think this kurt hummel character might look like?

**blenderman92: **noooooooooo i'm looking for one! stop freaking out!

He shuddered to think of what she might send to him. Probably naked porn stars.

He clicked through the photographs. There were a lot of pictures of Kurt with his various New Directions friends, all with copious amounts of comments and inside jokes. But then he found it, the perfect picture of Kurt.

It was from one of Mercedes' albums. Kurt was sitting cross-legged on the grass, in what he guessed was a park or something. He was wearing one of his distinctly fashionable outfits, but it was slightly more casual than usual- a designer tee shirt with a vest, skinny jeans, and a pair of pristine Converse sneakers. The late afternoon sun made his hair look redder than usual, and he was laughing, his head turned towards someone off screen- his brilliant blue-green eyes squinched up at the corners, his mouth open and smiling

That was the perfect one.

He copied the link and pasted it into the chat window.

**blenderman92: **that's kurt

**blenderman92: **happy now?

She was silent for a moment. He braced himself.

**babyinthecorner: **DAMN.

**babyinthecorner: **BLAINE. DAMN.

**babyinthecorner: **DAMN DAMN

**babyinthecorner: **hes adorable

**babyinthecorner: **I just want to ruffle his hair and tell him hes cute

**babyinthecorner: **do you ruffle his hair and tell him hes cute?

Actually, he found himself thinking that fairly often, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

**blenderman92: **now you have your picture

**blenderman92: **so be happy. and leave me alone.

**blenderman92: **i have to go visit him in the hospital

**babyinthecorner: **k

**babyinthecorner: **give him a kiss from me

**blenderman92: **FRANCES

**babyinthecorner: **oh fine

**babyinthecorner: **love you kid

**blenderman92: **you too francey

He exited out of the chat window and set his status to away, then finished making himself presentable. Everyone else was probably ready by now, anyway.

He headed down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. His mother was standing at the stove, and his father sat at the table with the newspaper spread around him. Burt sat at the table too, nursing a cup of coffee. "Morning, Blaine," Jack said, glancing at him over the rims of his glasses.

"Morning, Dad," he said. "Hey, Mom. Hey, Burt."

"Sit down, sweetheart," Anna said. "I made pancakes. You want some?"

"Uh, sure," he said.

"Would you like anything, Burt?" she asked.

He looked up from his coffee cup. "What?" he said. "Uh…no. Thanks, though."

"Have you heard anything from Carole?" Blaine asked.

Burt tapped his fingertip against the handle of his coffee mug. "She called me," he said. "He, uh, had a pretty bad nightmare last night. Couldn't get back to sleep for a while, but he wouldn't take anything. She was worried."

Blaine looked down at his empty white plate. He couldn't stand the thought of Kurt going through that. He had gone through it enough himself- the way his eyelids felt too heavy to open, the way it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, the way he couldn't seem to catch his breath when he woke, the way his skin felt slick with sweat and his clothes stuck to his overheated body. Kurt didn't deserve that.

"Carole wouldn't let me stay with him," Burt said. "I told her that I needed to stay with my kid, but she said I needed my rest, or I'd land myself in the hospital too." He clenched and unclenched his fists on the table. "I shouldn't have listened to her. I should've stayed with Kurt. He needs me."

"He'll get better," Anna said quietly. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "Blaine did."

Blaine looked up as Burt turned towards him. "You had to go through this too?" he asked.

"Not to the same extent," Blaine said quickly. "But…yes."

"How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?" Burt said.

"A few sports jocks cornered me outside the school auditorium," Blaine said. "It only lasted a few minutes, but it was enough to do some damage."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen," Blaine said. "It was freshman year."

"By then we'd had enough trying to deal with his school board," Jack said. "We pulled him from Radnor and sent him to Dalton. And that was that." He smiled. "Us fathers…we'll do anything for our kids, won't we?"

Burt stared into the depths of his coffee cup. Anna placed several pancakes on Blaine's plate, then put her hand lightly on Burt's shoulder. "I'm sure Kurt will get better," she said. "It takes a lot of time, and love, and patience, but it's worth it."

She smoothed Blaine's hair, tangling her fingers briefly in his unruly curls. Burt still stared blankly at his coffee cup. Blaine saw his parents exchange a concerned glance. Luckily, though, the awkward silence was interrupted by Finn clumping down the stairs.

"Morning, ever'body," he yawned.

Burt finally looked up and half-smiled. "Hey, bud," he said.

Finn grinned sleepily. "Those pancakes?" he said.

"They sure are," Anna said. "I assume you want a lot?" Finn nodded eagerly and plopped into the empty seat next to Blaine.

Burt checked his watch. "Once you kids are ready, we can head out to the hospital," he said.

Blaine hadn't realized before that day that it was possible for one person to eat nine pancakes in the span of seven minutes, but Finn certainly proved it. They were out the door in twenty minutes, but not before Blaine had a chance to hug his parents goodbye before they left for church. They didn't say anything other than the usual pleasantries, but he knew they were all thinking the same things.

Finn seemed in a better mood than he was the day before. He kept up a steady stream of conversation that Blaine did his best to keep up with, but Burt didn't respond. Kurt's father seemed quiet, introspective. It didn't bode well.

The pediatrics wing of the hospital was silent and falsely cheerful. It was awful, in a way. It was a constant remember that Kurt was still a minor, that this kind of assault had happened to a child.

Carole was waiting for them in the lobby. Burt got to her first, hugging her tightly and kissing her on the lips. "Hi," she said. "How are you? Did you sleep all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Burt said.

Finn slipped past Burt and hugged his mom, then offered her a travel mug full of coffee. "Anna sent this over for you," he said.

"Thank you, honey," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"How's Kurt? He awake?" Burt asked.

Carole smile faded a little. "He's awake," she said. "I don't think he slept at all after his nightmare. I think…he doesn't want to sleep."

"Well, did he get his pain meds?" Burt asked.

"He's refusing them," Carole said quietly.

Burt frowned. "Dammit," he said. "Sometimes I wish he hadn't gotten his mom's stubbornness." He shook his head. "I'll make him take 'em."

"Wait just a little bit," Carole said, catching his arm. "That detective called. She wants to come by and talk to Kurt again. She'll be here soon."

Burt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to go see my kid," he said in a low voice. He headed towards Kurt's room; Blaine followed him.

Kurt was in almost the same position he'd been in the night before- sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, picking at a tray of food. But last night he had been drowsily cheerful, smiling and even laughing a little. Now his eyes looked sunken in his white face, his pale lips were drawn down at the corners, and he stared vacantly at the far wall while he pushed his fork aimlessly through a plateful of watery scrambled eggs.

"Hey, kiddo, you okay?" Burt asked. Blaine slipped into the back of the room as Burt made his way over to his son. He could tell Burt was upset by Kurt's appearance. He didn't blame him.

Kurt looked up dully. "I'm fine," he said.

Burt stroked his hair away from his forehead. "You're really warm, kid," he said. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Enough," Kurt shrugged. Blaine noticed that with all of the pushing of his fork, Kurt still hadn't raised it to his lips. "I'm fine." He pushed Burt's hand away. "Dad, stop it."

Burt crossed his arms across his chest. "That detective lady's going to come back and talk to you, and then we're going to get you your meds," he said.

"No, Dad, I don't want them," Kurt said, glaring down at his plate. "They suck. I don't want them."

"Hey," Burt said sharply. "Don't act like that with me. You know you need them." Kurt threw his fork angrily onto his plate and pushed the tray away.

Blaine felt Finn close his hand over his shoulder. "This isn't good," he whispered in his ear. Blaine shook his head.

The door swung open and the detective walked in. "Hi, there," Liza said. "How are you feeling, Kurt?"

"Fine," he said hoarsely, staring at the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

Blaine watched Liza out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to note Kurt's altered attitude, just like the rest of them had. "This won't take very long," she said, pulling the digital recorder out of her pocket again. "We've been processing your case, Kurt, but I was wondering if you can give us any more details about the man who attacked you."

"No."

The reply was instantaneous. Kurt sat up straight, his pillows sliding away from his back. "No," he said again.

"Kurt, it's really important that you tell us everything," Liza said. She kept her voice soft, even, and measured. "We're doing our best to find your assailant, but there's only so much we can do without a physical description."

"I don't have one," Kurt said. "I couldn't see him. It was dark."

"But he was touching you," Liza pressed. "You should remember something about that."

Kurt stared at her, eyes dark and hollow. "Well, I don't," he said.

"What about his hands?" Liza asked, soft and low. "What were his hands like?"

"They were…they were big," Kurt said. He held his chin high; his neck was skinny and the bones jutted out. "They were rough. The nails weren't trimmed."

"What about his body?" Liza asked. "Was he tall?" "Taller than me," he said. "And big. Big and broad."

Burt leaned protectively over his son, his arms folded over his chest and his mouth pulled down in a scowl. Finn unconsciously mirrored Burt's pose beside Blaine, staring at his stepbrother.

"Kurt, do you remember anything specific?" Liza asked. "Did he have any scars? Any tattoos?"

"No," Kurt said. He clenched his slender fingers. "I don't know why you keep asking me about this."

Liza leaned closer. "Kurt, we've seen cases similar to yours before," she said. "There have been situations where we've seen girls get attacked, seemingly out of the blue, but it's always, _always _been someone they knew."

Blaine saw Kurt tense up. His face looked gray. Blaine's heart thudded slowly against his ribcage.

"No," Kurt said.

"Kurt, is there anyone you know who could hurt you like this?" Liza asked.

"No."

"Whoever did this to you most likely has some kind of history with you," she said. "Have you ever been assaulted before?"

"No."

But Kurt was lying.

Blaine knew he was lying.

He had been lying for months, and he was lying now.

It could kill him.

It _was _killing him.

Finn caught Blaine by the arm. "Y'okay?" he whispered. "You look like you're going to fall over."

Blaine shook his hand away. "I'm fine," he whispered back.

"Look, I don't remember anything else," Kurt said. His eyes were still blank and colorless, his skin was still grayed save the feverish flush on his cheeks. He licked his dry lips and swallowed hard. "I don't. I…I…" He raised his chin. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want there to be an investigation."

Finn's head shot up. "Kurt, don't be stupid," he blurted out.

"We're not calling it off," Burt said sharply.

"We can't," Liza said. "The report's been filed and the state already has the investigation underway."

"Kurt, what's wrong with you?" Burt demanded.

Kurt held onto the sides of the bed, as if it was shifting underneath him and he was trying to keep it still. "I don't want to do it," he said miserably. "I…I can't…"

"Okay, we're done," Burt said sharply. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned Kurt against him, resting his son's head against his shoulder. Kurt stayed stiff and unyielding, even though his father kept stroking his hair gently. "We're done here."

Finn took Blaine by the arm. "Let's go," he said. Blaine couldn't move. Finn gripped him more forcibly and dragged him out into the hall, brushing past Carole as she came back to the room. "What's wrong with you?"

Blaine sank into a chair, his head spinning. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I…I just…"

Finn was staring at him and the confession was on his lips, but the three girls walked into the waiting room. Rachel ran over to Finn and threw her arms around his neck. "How are you?" she asked. "Did you get enough sleep?"

Blaine slumped back against the chair, his forehead resting in his hands. Rachel and Mercedes talked to Finn, cheerful and happy. Their voices blurred in Blaine's ear.

A slender arm slipped around his shoulders. He glanced up to see Quinn sitting next to him, her eyes concerned. "What's wrong?" she whispered. "Blaine? You're shaking."

He looked into her eyes and words failed him. He struggled to find them again. "I have to…"

"Is it about Kurt?"

He nodded and swallowed hard. "When Kurt-"

"Hold on," Mercedes said, looking wide-eyed at her phone. "Guys, we've got a code red."

"We have a what?" Rachel said.

She held up her phone. The screen said she had an incoming call from Noah Puckerman. "This can't be good," she said.

"Put him on speaker," Quinn ordered. "They have to find out at some point. It might as well be now."

Mercedes warily answered the call, set it on speakerphone, and held it in the middle of the group. "Hey, Puck," she said.

"Oh, yeah, _now _you answer my call. Listen, Mercedes, we heard Kurt's in the hospital, but we're at Good Sam and they don't got him. So where's Hummel?"

Finn leaned over the phone. "He's not at the hospital in Lima, Puck," he said. "He never made it home."

"So what was it, Hudson? Car accident?"

Finn rubbed the sides of his nose. "He got jumped in the parking lot," he said.

The line fell silent for a moment. "Damn," Puck breathed. "He okay?"

"Not…" Finn's voice cracked. "He's not okay. I mean, he was better last night, but this morning he…he's not himself anymore."

"He gonna make it?"

"He'll make it," Blaine said, sitting up suddenly. "No, he's going to make it."

"Who's that?"

"That's Blaine," Finn said. "He's a friend of Kurt's from Dalton. He was with me when we found him."

"Listen, you guys, we're all at Good Samaritan," Puck said. "We're gonna drive up where you are."

"I don't think so."

Blaine looked up to see Carole. She put her hand on Finn's shoulder and leaned over towards the phone. "Is that you, Noah?"

"Hi, Mrs. H. Why can't we see Kurt?"

"He had a rough night," Carole said. "He didn't sleep well at all, and he's really worked up. The doctor says he can't go home until his fever comes down, and it won't come down until he's had enough rest."

Blaine heard Puck sigh heavily over the phone. "When can we see him?" he asked.

"When he's had some sleep and his fever's down," Carole said.

"Will you let us know-"

"As soon as we can," Carole promised.

"All right, fine," Puck said. "You better tell us what's up with him."

There was a click on the other end, and Mercedes put her phone back in her purse with a sigh. "Well, they know now," she said.

"Is he really not doing well?" Quinn asked. She still had her arm around Blaine's shoulders, and he realized her fingers were digging into his skin. "He was doing so much better last night."

"He had a bad nightmare last night, and he didn't get any real sleep after it," Carole said. "He won't eat and he won't take his pain medication."

"Can I go see him?" Mercedes begged. "Just for a little?"

Carole put her hand on her shoulder. "Not right now," she said. "His dad is with him. Wait just a little while longer, okay?"

Rachel started fussing over Finn, and he didn't seem to fight it. Mercedes and Quinn barraged Carole with questions. Blaine leaned back in his chair, staring at the wall across.

Kurt knew. He had to know. Absolutely, no question. He knew who did this. That was the only explanation for his sudden attitude change. He must've remembered it. Maybe that was what the nightmare was about.

Blaine drummed his fingers absently on his knees, trying to put the pieces together. Kurt couldn't tell them who his attacker was on the night it happened. He was too cold, and too sick, and in too much pain.

Yesterday…yesterday Kurt probably couldn't remember because of the lingering trauma, and then being kept on painkillers all day. He was lost in a fog, of course he couldn't be expected to remember any details.

But last night, the painkillers wore off. He was lucid again. And when he was lucid…he must have remembered.

But he still didn't want to talk about it. Obviously it was bad, if he not only refused to tell who it was, but he also wanted to drop the investigation. Kurt was terrified.

Blaine dropped his hands on his knees. Only one person had ever made Kurt this scared before, only one person had ever tried to assault him.

It had to be Dave Karofsky.

Karofsky must have come after him, not satisfied with just a kiss. He must have come after Kurt, looking for more. And now Kurt remembered…and he was too scared to tell anyone.

He leaned forward in his seat, ready to tell them. But they were all caught up in their conversations, and he sat back again, second-guessing himself.

Kurt had kept his secret for this long. He wouldn't take it lightly for someone to give it away without his permission.

He would give Kurt an ultimatum. He would give Kurt one last final chance to tell someone. And then, if Kurt didn't tell, by the end of the day, then he would tell his parents.

He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand, and sighed heavily. No one else had noticed his mental tug o'war. Everyone was still talking, and he was still on the outskirts of the conversation.

Burt was still gone. That was good. He was still with Kurt. Maybe Kurt was already spilling out the whole story to his father. That would be the best. If Kurt could just tell his father, of his own volition…

Blaine looked up to see Burt storming down the hall towards them. Carole stood up. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Is Kurt all right?"

"He kicked me out," Burt snapped. "Does that sound all right to you? He kicked me out."

"Are you serious?" Finn said. "Why?"

Burt took his baseball cap off and slammed it down on the coffee table. "Who knows?" he said. "I was just talking to him. Trying to get him to eat, take his meds. He wouldn't do it, even thought that's what he's been doing to me ever since my heart attack."

The group had fallen silent. Mercedes looked like she might cry. Burt ran his hand over his head. "Then I try to talk to him," he said. "I just want him to tell me what's going on. There's something he's not telling me, and I tried to get him to tell me, and what does he do? Tells me he's tired and to get out so he can sleep."

Burt paced angrily back and forth. The girls were all staring down at the floor, but Carole kept her eyes steadily on him. "He's lying to me," he said through gritted teeth. "My own kid is fucking lying to me, and there's nothing I can do to make him tell the truth."

Mercedes really was crying by then, and Quinn moved to comfort her. Carole tried to reason with Burt, and Rachel had turned towards Finn. No one noticed when Blaine got up quietly and made his way over to Kurt's room.

Blaine stood in the hallway, his hand on the doorknob. He needed to do this. He just needed to be careful.

He tapped the door open. Just like he thought, Kurt wasn't asleep. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach.

"I don't want to talk about it, Dad," he rasped.

Blaine closed the door quietly behind him. "I'm not him," he said.

Kurt turned his head towards him. His eyes were dull and glazed over. "Blaine, not now," he sighed. "I look awful and I feel worse. I don't want to talk to you."

"I know," Blaine said. "I won't take too long, I promise."

He approached the bed carefully. The last thing he wanted was to get Kurt worked up. "What do you want?" Kurt asked.

"I was just thinking," Blaine said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "It isn't really a good time for this," he said. "I'm tired. I want to go to sleep."

Blaine slid his hands in his pockets. "Do you remember the first time we met?" he said.

Kurt sighed. "Of course I do," he said.

"What were you thinking when you first saw me?" Blaine asked.

"I don't know," Kurt said. He picked idly at his fingernails. "Probably just something about how nervous I was."

"I remember when you came back the second time," Blaine said. He smiled at the memory. "It was when David and Wes caught you pulling into the parking lot, and they brought me in to talk to you."

"Oh," Kurt said. "That."

Blaine stood beside him, hands thrust deep in his pockets. "I just remember sitting across from you, clutching that cup of coffee, and your eyes just…just welled up when you started talking about the bullying you were going through," he said.

"I'm a crybaby like that," Kurt sighed, blinking at the ceiling.

Impulsively he put his hand on Kurt's slender wrist. "No, you're not a crybaby," he said. "You were on the verge of tears, but you were still so proud. You held your chin up like…like you were better than your tormentors. And you are."

He allowed his thumb to run slightly against the side of Kurt's wrist. Kurt turned his head slightly towards him. "That's a lot to think about at one time," he said.

"Well, I managed," Blaine said. "All I could think about was how brave you were. Braver than me."

Kurt turned all the way towards him now. "I'm not braver than you," he tried to argue.

"Yes, you are," Blaine said. "You stuck it out. You actually faced the people who were destroying your life."

His hand involuntarily clenched around Kurt's wrist; he relaxed his grip when he saw Kurt wince slightly. "Remember when I said that I ran?" he said softly.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said.

"I wasn't kidding," Blaine said. "I ran. Literally. I…I didn't fight back. They came after me, and I just ran." He pulled his hand away from Kurt's and ran his fingers through his hair. "Every day, I regret that. I wish I had fought back. I wish I had tried to stand up for myself, instead of deflecting them with jokes and running away when I got too scared. I wish…I could have been as courageous as you."

"I'm not courageous," Kurt whispered.

"Yes, you are," Blaine said. "You fought back. That's brave." Kurt smiled faintly towards the ceiling at Blaine's praise. "I couldn't have done what you did."

"I bet you could have," Kurt said.

"But I didn't," Blaine countered. "You are one of the bravest people I've ever met."

Kurt turned his head towards him, that vague smile still on his thin white lips. His black eye didn't really look black- it was a myriad of colors, red and purple and navy and sickly yellow. There was only the faintest hint at the brilliant blue eye behind the swollen lids. Blaine swallowed hard. He had to be careful about this.

"But you know you can still be brave and ask for help, right?" Blaine ventured.

Kurt sighed. "I know," he said. "I just…I don't like doing that. I'm too…highstrung as it is."

"Kurt, don't you think your family wants to help you?" Blaine said. "All your parents can do is talk about you. Finn has been planted in the waiting room, just on the hope that you would ask for him."

Kurt glanced away, pale and thoughtful. Blaine's heart thudded against his ribcage. He had to be careful. If he wasn't careful, he could ruin everything.

"The girls were here all day yesterday," he continued. "Mercedes and Rachel and Quinn. They came back. They're here right now, and they really, _really_ want to see you. Quinn even said she wanted to be here for you, because you were there for her."

Kurt twisted his fingers together idly, making the IV needle turn under his skin. "It wasn't much, really," he mumbled.

"And the other singers from New Directions, the only reason they're not here now is because Finn won't tell them what hospital you're at," he pressed. "They went to the one in Lima to find you, so they could make sure you were okay."

"All of them?" Kurt whispered.

"From the sounds of it, yes," Blaine said. Kurt kept twisting his fingers together pensively. Blaine edged a little closer. "They're worried about you. All of them are. They just want to keep you safe, and to…to find the person who did this to you."

Kurt only blinked, his lashes brushing his cheek. Blaine steeled himself. "Kurt, I know that you know," he said softly.

The reaction was instantaneous. Kurt froze, suddenly digging a broken fingernail into the white dead skin on his thumb. He didn't say anything.

"Look, I'm not going to pressure you into telling me," Blaine said, still keeping his voice low and gentle. "But you know. You know _something _about the person who hurt you, and you can't keep it to yourself. If you bottle it up, it'll destroy you from the inside out."

Kurt broke into a harsh, bitter laugh. "If I tell, I'll be destroyed from the outside in," he retorted.

He picked at his thumbnail until a droplet of bright red blood welled up. It trickled down his finger and dotted the blanket as Blaine reached over and placed his hand over his. Kurt's hand was cold, and he could feel the slight steady flow of the IV dripping into his vein. "It's him, isn't it?" Blaine said. "It was Karofsky. He did this to you."

Kurt's slender fingers suddenly gripped his. "I don't want to talk about it," he whispered. "Please, Blaine…I don't want to talk about it."

"I know, I know," Blaine said. "But you have to." He shifted his weight. "Look, Kurt, I've been keeping your secret for months now. Despite my better judgment, I have to add."

Kurt tried to pull his hand away. "I knew I shouldn't've told anyone," he murmured.

Blaine held tight. "No," he said firmly. "No, I'm glad you told me. You needed to tell me. But Kurt…no one can help you until you tell them. If you tell someone that Karofsky kissed you, they can start investigating him. And if I'm right, and it was Karofsky who did this to you, all you have to do is say the word and they can put him away."

Kurt looked away, his shoulders tensing. Blaine squeezed his hand, trying to bring some warmth back into his icy fingers. "They can put him away, Kurt," he whispered. "And then he'll never bother you again. He won't hurt you again."

Kurt closed his eyes. "I won't," he said. "I won't. I can do it. I can do it myself."

Blaine rubbed his thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "If you don't do anything, Kurt, and Karofsky walks free, then this could happen again," he said.

Kurt couldn't pull his hand from his, but he turned his face away until he was nearly talking into his pillow. Blaine had to lean close to catch what he was saying. "He said he'd kill me," Kurt said faintly. "He said he'd kill me if I told."

"He almost did," Blaine said. "And you haven't done anything." He tugged lightly on Kurt's hand, trying to pull him back towards him. "You need to tell someone. And if you don't…I will."

Kurt glanced back at him over his shoulder. "You wouldn't," he rasped.

"I will," Blaine said calmly. "If you don't tell someone by tomorrow, then I will go straight to the police and tell them what happened in the McKinley locker room. That's what I know for sure, and that's enough for them to launch an investigation."

Kurt fell silent. Blaine waited for him to answer. The silence stretched on, and on, until Blaine was willing to hear Kurt scream at him, just to hear an answer.

"Okay," Kurt said in a small voice.

Blaine leaned over him. "Okay what?" he whispered.

A stray tear tracked down Kurt's cheek. All Blaine wanted to was reach over and brush it away, but he didn't dare. He didn't dare to speak, or even breathe, much less move or try to touch him. "I'll do it," Kurt said. "I'll…I'll tell."

Blaine gripped his hand a little too tightly in relief. "Good," he said. "Good, Kurt, I'm…I'm so glad." He released his clutch a little bit, but he kept his fingers snug around Kurt's.

"I don't…I don't have to do it right this second, do I?" Kurt asked. "I think I need…a little time…before I can say anything."

"Sure," Blaine said. "Of course you can. But…you'll do it soon, right?"

Kurt nodded. The tear dribbled down his chin, making a tiny waterspot on the front of his hospital gown. "Can I have a little time to myself?" he said.

"Of course," Blaine said. He squeezed Kurt's hand one last time, then set it carefully back down. "Just let someone know when you're ready, okay?"

"I will," he whispered.

Blaine flashed him one last encouraging smile, then slipped out of Kurt's hospital room. His chest felt curiously light. He had done it. He had managed to convince Kurt to tell someone the truth, and he was going to do it soon, and this whole mess was going to be over soon. He wouldn't have to violate Kurt's privacy and tattle on him behind his back. Things were going to be so much better.

He walked back towards the waiting room, an unusual spring in his step. Everyone was still huddled together, still deep in their own conversations. He slipped into an empty seat unobtrusively. Rachel had her arms tight around Finn's waist; he was absentmindedly stroking her hair while he talked to his parents. Quinn and Mercedes were lost in their own conversation too, arguing over whether or not they should let it slip to Puck and the rest of New Directions where Kurt was. No one had noticed that he had walked away, and he had to have been gone for a while.

"Blaine?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see his mother approaching. "Mom," he said, rising to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Anna smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I came to find you," she said. "Burt, Carole…how are you doing? Is Kurt better?"

Burt's face darkened, but Carole squeezed his arm. "He's resting," she said.

"Who are you?" Rachel asked.

"Anna Anderson," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Blaine's mother."

"Rachel Berry," she replied. "I'm Finn's girlfriend."

Quinn stood up. "I'm Quinn Fabray, and this is Mercedes Jones," she said. "We're Kurt's friends from New Directions."

Anna put her hand on Mercedes' shoulder. "So you're Kurt's Mercedes," she said, smiling. "He's told us about all about you. It's so nice to finally meet you."

Mercedes, who still looked on the verge of tears again, offered a weak smile and nodded. Blaine cleared his throat. "Mom, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"We figured you were hungry, so we brought you some lunch," Anna said. "Your father has it out in the car. Can you help us bring it in?"

"Sure," Blaine said, picking up his jacket and sliding it on.

Finn started to get up. "I can help," he offered.

"Thank you, sweetheart, but we've got it," Anna said. She put her hand on Blaine's arm. "We'll be right back."

Blaine walked beside her out of the pediatrics wing and into one of the elevators that led to the parking lot. He felt like a six-year-old next to his mother, like she was holding his hand while they walked past the scary Halloween displays in the mall. "Mom, what's this really about?" he asked.

She led him into the parking lot and walked towards the family SUV. His father stood beside it, leaning beside the passenger door. "Mom?" Blaine said warily.

"The jig is up, Jack, he's too smart for us," Anna said.

Jack uncrossed his arms and leaned away from the door. At six foot even, he was still taller than his son, and miles taller than his petite wife. "I could have told you that, Anna," he said.

"Dad," Blaine groaned. "What are you people doing to me?"

"We're worried about you, sweetheart," Anna said.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Mom, I'm fine," he said. "I'm not the one in the hospital, Kurt is." "

Yeah, so, three years ago it _was _you," Jack said. "We know you, Blaine, and this is bothering you."

"Look, I'm fine," Blaine said, crossing his arms across his chest. He stared his parents down, because he was almost eighteen, dammit, and he didn't need them treating him like a fragile fourteen year old again. "I'm a lot tougher than you credit me for. I can handle this."

His parents still didn't look convinced. He sighed and slid his hands in his back pockets. "I'm not having all sorts of flashbacks or anything," he said. "I'm not having nightmares, I'm not having panic attacks. I'm fine. I just want to be here for Kurt. He's the one who's having a rough time, not me."

Jack sighed. "Okay," he said. He turned towards the car. "Help me with this cooler?"

"Jack," Anna scolded, tugging on his sleeve.

"Jack what?" he said, glancing over his shoulder at his small blonde wife. "You said you wanted to talk to him about what's going on, and we did. Blaine wouldn't lie about something like this."

"I don't lie," Blaine said flatly.

Anna looked desperately from her husband to her son. "Sweetheart, we're not trying to say you're a liar, or trying to treat you like a child," she said. "We just want to make sure you're not pushing everything aside in an attempt to be brave."

"I'm _not,_" he said. He pushed past his dad to pull a pallet of bottled water out of the backseat of the car. "Come on, Mom, just drop it, okay?"

"Okay," she said. "But only if you promise to tell us if things are getting to be too much, all right?"

"I promise," he said. "Are we done?"

"Yes, we're done," Anna said. She picked up a tote bag from the front passenger seat of the car and slung it over her shoulder, then locked the car as her husband and son hefted the cooler and the bottled water, respectively.

Blaine walked with them back into the hospital as his father launched into a vivid description of the Buckeyes game he'd gone to on Friday. His mother stayed quiet as they bantered back and forth, and he knew she was still dwelling on their discussion. He also knew that there was absolutely nothing he could say that would make her feel better about him. It was just a mom thing, he guessed.

They walked into the waiting room together. "Geez, Anna, you didn't have to do this," Burt said.

"It's no trouble," Anna said.

Jack set the cooler down on the floor. "Says the woman that didn't carry the heavy things," he said. He straightened and smoothed his thick dark hair back. "I don't suppose I've met everyone yet."

"This is Rachel, Quinn, and Mercedes," Finn introduced. "This is Blaine's dad, Jack. He's pretty cool."

"Well, thanks, Finn," Jack said. "I do try."

Blaine set the water bottles down on the magazine table. Quinn flipped the lid of the cooler and started unpacking the sandwich ingredients. "Your parents are very nice," she murmured.

"Sometimes too nice," he said.

Quinn put her hand on his back, between his shoulderblades. "You were upset earlier," she said. "I'm sorry, I got distracted. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. "The thing I was concerned about has sort of…resolved itself. Mostly. I guess."

She rubbed his back lightly in an almost motherly gesture and turned back towards the cooler. Blaine helped her, but he glanced over his shoulder as Finn stood up, unfolding his long legs. "I'll be back," he said.

Rachel hopped up. "I'll come with you," she said.

"No, I uh…I gotta go to the bathroom," Finn said. "You can't come, okay?"

"Fine," Rachel sighed. "Come back soon, all right?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Girl, you're practically surgically attached to him already," she said. "You can last the ten minutes it'll take for him to pee." Rachel rolled her eyes right back and huffed as Finn patted her on the head and headed down the hallway.

Blaine settled down as they put together their impromptu picnic on the waiting room floor. He felt better than he had felt in weeks. Kurt was getting better, and he was going to tell them the truth. Kurt's parents were finally relaxing a little, and so were his friends. And his parents, thank goodness, were finally off his back and getting along with Kurt's parents. It was perfect.

Everything was going to be perfect.

* * *

Kurt stared dully out the window. He couldn't see much, just gray early-winter sky and a few stray tree branches. He didn't care, though. He wasn't really paying attention.

His plan had been running through his head for a while now. The question was…could he actually go through it?

Part of him wanted to go through with it. But part of him wanted to sit up, call for his dad like a child woken up from a bad dream, and throw himself into his father's arms so he could sob out the whole story.

But that would be ridiculous.

Blaine was wrong. He could be as sweet and gentle and earnest as he wanted to be, but there was no way that he could be right about this.

Karofsky would kill him if he told his parents. That he was sure of. So he couldn't tell them. That was that.

But he had to appease Blaine.

Kurt inched closer to his nightstand and picked up his phone. It was difficult to type on the slick keyboard with the stiffness in his hands, but at last he tapped out the message and hit send.

_Come see me? By yourself._

He scooted the phone back onto the nightstand and away from the edge. It wouldn't take very long, hopefully. He just had to get it over with.

The door creaked open and Finn peeked inside. "Hey," he whispered. "Y'okay? I thought you were asleep."

"I was sleeping for a while," he rasped. He tried to scoot himself up into a sitting position; Finn was by his side in a second and he helped pull him up. "Thanks."

"No problem," Finn grinned. "So, uh…you need anything? Want me to get you something?"

"No, no…it's okay," Kurt said. "I'm fine. I actually…" He paused and took a deep breath. "Can you…can you sit down next to me?"

Finn obeyed immediately, plunking down on the edge of his bed and rumpling the crisp industrial white sheets. "Are you sure you're okay?" he said warily.

"I'm fine, really," Kurt reassured him. "I just want to talk to you."

Finn sat up a little straighter and smiled. "Oh," he said. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Kurt plucked at the sheets. "It's…it's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while," he said. "I had…there was an incident a few months ago. Around the time I met Blaine."

Finn blanched. "What is it?" he said. "Did Blaine mess with you? Do you want me to…to teach him a lesson or something? Or did…oh, are you guys dating? Are you dating and you just didn't want to tell us? Because it's okay, he's really nice and we all like him and-"

"No, Finn, it's nothing like that," he said quickly. He sighed, still plucking at the sheets.

"But you're upset about it, right?" Finn pressed.

He hesitated, then nodded. "I've been upset…for a while, I guess," he whispered. "It's about…Karofsky."

Finn stiffened. "What about him?" he asked, his voice dropping lower.

He stared down at the white expanse of sheets covering his legs. "He kissed me," Kurt said.

"He what?"

He kept his eyes down. Finn took him by the chin and drew his face up to look at him. Kurt made a startled noise of protest and shied away. "Sorry, sorry," Finn said. "But Kurt…he…he kissed you?"

The hurt in his brother's voice made his chest ache. His eyes burned despite himself. "He pushed me into the lockers and I couldn't take it anymore," Kurt said. "I…I ran after him into the boys' locker room, and we were yelling, and then…then he just grabbed my face and…and…"

"And he kissed you," Finn finished. He ran his hands through his hair. "Oh my god, Kurt…why didn't…why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," Kurt said desperately. "That's why…why he wanted to kill me, Finn, he didn't want me to tell anyone. I couldn't tell anyone at all."

Finn grabbed him by the upper arms and Kurt cried out when he gripped his injured shoulder. He dropped his hands like he was burned. "I'm sorry!" Finn said. "I just…Kurt, I don't…I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?"

Kurt scooted closer to him, cradling his throbbing arm against his chest. "I can't take it anymore," he said. "I had to tell somebody, Finn."

Finn sat up. "And…and you told me?" he said. Kurt nodded. Finn broke into a smile and put his hands gently over Kurt's. "Really?"

Kurt nodded again. "You're my brother," he said. "I trust you."

Finn kept smiling, but then it started to fade a little. "We have to tell Burt," he said.

"No."

Finn frowned. "No what?" he asked.

"You can't tell my dad," Kurt said. "He's still sick. I don't want him to end up back in the hospital because of me."

Finn blinked. "Kurt, _you're_ in the hospital right now," he said. He paled and squeezed Kurt's hand. "Oh my god. Did he do this? Is he the one who hurt you?"

Kurt involuntarily contracted his hands. "I don't know," he lied quickly. "I don't remember. It was dark, and I was scared, I just…I don't…"

"Kurt, can't I at least tell the detective?" Finn pleaded. "That's her job. She's trying to find the asshole that did this to you."

"No, you can't tell," Kurt said, clinging to Finn's hand. "See, you know now. You can protect me."

He looked up into Finn's distraught face. It wasn't the first time that he had done something like this. He knew his hair was limp and messy, he knew his face looked pale and sickly, he knew his eyes were large and shining. And he knew that it was breaking Finn's heart.

"Kurt, don't do this," Finn whispered.

Kurt wound his slender fingers around Finn's big hand. "You promised to protect me," he said. "If you don't tell, I'll come back to McKinley, and you can protect me. Karofsky won't stand a chance if you're the one looking out for me. Please?"

Finn just stared at him, the corners of his mouth tugging down. Kurt squeezed his hand. "Please?" he begged.

Finn looked down at the floor. "Okay," he said at last. "Okay. I'll do it. I'll…I won't tell."

Kurt leaned back against the pillows, smiling sleepily. "Thank you," he said. And honestly, he meant it. He felt better now that someone else knew the secret.

At least part of the secret.

And he knew that Finn wouldn't tell. He wouldn't dare.

"You…you okay?" Finn asked.

"I'm fine, I'm just tired," Kurt said. And he was, he really was. All he wanted was to curl up and fall asleep.

"Lie down, okay?" Finn said. Kurt obeyed, and Finn tugged the blankets over him. "You want me to get you anything?"

"I'm fine," Kurt said.

Reluctantly Finn gave the blankets one last pat and headed towards the hall. Kurt raised his head off the pillow. "Finn?" he called.

He paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"You won't tell, will you?"

Finn looked down at his shoes. "No," he said quietly. "I…I won't. I'll protect you, okay? You got that?"

"I do," Kurt whispered. "And…and thanks, Finn. You're a really good brother."

Finn sort of smiled and walked out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. Kurt nestled under his blankets.

He wanted to feel better, but he didn't. He felt worse.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I hope this update makes up for the long wait...and the fact that I left off with such a terrible chapter. At least I started this one off with some lame attempts at Francey-related humor.

But yes...developments. We are heading towards the Klaine...but naturally, there have to be bumps in the road.

Also, I wrote the last half of this on Kat's laptop, and I titled the temp document "in which kurt gets his passive aggressive mojo on." When Kat and I were outlining this chapter, we talked about how passive-aggressively manipulative Kurt could be in the first season, and to us it made sense that he would try to use those skills in this situation.

And of course, you'll just have to see how Blaine feels when he figures out what Kurt's up to.

This is a very long, very wordy chapter, but hopefully it'll get more interesting as it goes on.


	9. Do You Think I'll Make It to the Morning

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

He poked aimlessly at the remains of his baked potato. The clink of silverware on plates and the low steady murmur of chatter blurred his ears. His mother signaled to the waitress to refill her water glass while his father studied the dessert menu. His younger brother jostled him as he fought with their sister over the last roll.

"Cut it out, Jonathan," he mumbled.

"Why?" Jonathan teased. "Make me!"

Their mother reached over, took the roll, tore it in half, and handed one piece to Jonathan and one piece to Sophia. "Don't pick on your brother, David," Laura said.

"I wasn't," he sulked, dropping his fork on his plate with an irritating clang.

"Mom, Jonathan won't give me any butter," Sophia complained.

Laura took a bite of her salad. "Jonathan, stop it," she said. "What's wrong with you, David?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"You've barely touched your dinner, aren't you hungry?" Laura pressed.

"Big lunch," he lied.

"Aren't you feeling well?" she asked.

"Headache," he said.

Laura leaned back in her seat. "Did you get hit in football practice yesterday?" she asked. "I swear, that coach of yours needs to make sure everyone has their helmet on."

"It's fine, Mom," Dave said through gritted teeth.

His father looked at him across the table. "We'll head home soon," he said.

He sat by quietly as the waitress took the check and brought them to-go boxes. His mother chatted loudly with his father, sometimes with his still-squabbling younger siblings. But he stayed silent.

He hated Sunday night dinners. He always had. When he was younger he had to put up with his perfect older brother Seth out-talking him, always nabbing their parents' notice before he could. And when Sophia and then Jonathan were born, they stole even more attention away from him. He didn't even know why they kept this stupid tradition anyway. His mom always complained about how much money they were spending, and the little kids were just always fussing. His dad just always quietly insisted that they go. That it was something the family did together.

And now, when he thought about the bloody tee shirt in the back of his closet, he would give anything to keep up with these damn dinners, if only it meant that all of _that _was a bad dream and it would never come back to haunt him.

"Dave?"

He glanced up. His parents stood up, reaching for their coats. "We're going home, honey," Laura said as she slid her arms through the sleeves.

"Oh," he said. He stood up and picked up his old winter coat.

Jonathan grabbed Sophia's gloves and dangled them above her face, making her shriek and strike out at him. "Kids, watch it," Paul warned.

Dave followed the rest of the family out of the restaurant and into the cold. Sophia dared Jonathan to race her to the car; he let out a yell and raced after her. He thrust his fists deeper in the pockets of his coat.

"Where's your jacket, David?" Laura asked.

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Your jacket," she repeated. "Your letterman's jacket. Why aren't you wearing it?"

"Oh," he said. "It's, uh, it's kind of dirty."

Laura climbed into the front seat of the minivan. "Hang it up in the laundry room before you go to bed, I'll take it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow," she said. "Jonathan, stop picking on Soph."

"She started it," he retorted as he clambered into the middle seats of the van, Sophia plunking down beside him. Dave brushed past them and sank into the back seat, behind the two younger kids, and huddled in the warmth of his coat as his father started the van and pulled out of the parking lot.

He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window while his siblings argued and his parents chatted and the radio played Christmas music. In vain he wished that he could have taken his own car, so he didn't have to put up with his stupid family.

But on the other hand, he didn't want to get back in his car. Sitting his car made him think too much about…about the things he didn't want to remember.

He pressed his forehead against the window until it nearly hurt. This wasn't going to last much longer. He knew it.

Maybe Hummel would talk. Maybe he wouldn't. But he'd seen how Hummel's dad was back in the expulsion meeting at school. This wasn't going to be the kind of thing he'd take lightly, not if he demanded an expulsion after a few locker shoves and empty threats.

There was no way Hummel's dad would let this slide. No doubt the police were involved by now.

And they would be coming after him.

"Dave, are you all right?" his mother called from the front seat. "You- Sophia, stop it- you don't look very well. Is your headache still bothering you?"

He raised his head. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick.

"I'll get you some Tylenol when we get home," Laura said. "Jonathan, Sophia, be quiet. David doesn't feel good."

He endured the rest of the car ride home in silence, listening aimlessly to the Christmas music on the radio until they pulled into the garage. Jonathan and Sophia leaped out first, still arguing about something, and he slammed the van door shut

He was nearly to the stairs, almost in the safety of his bedroom, when he heard his father clear this throat behind him. "David?" Paul said.

He halted, his hand nearly on the banister. "Yeah, Dad?" he said.

Paul nodded towards the living room. "Come here for a moment," he said.

Reluctantly he walked back towards his dad. Paul crossed his arms. "You doing all right, son?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," he said. "You know, I've just got…I've just got a headache-"

"Your mother told me you came home drunk on Friday night," Paul said. "Would you like to explain that?"

"I wasn't drunk, just buzzed," he mumbled.

"It's the same, David," Paul said. "You're underage."

"It was just a party, Dad," he defended. "Everybody drinks at parties after the games."

"Yes, but did everybody drive home afterwards?" Paul countered. He stood in the middle of the living room, his face shadowed in the light of the tall floor lamp. "You could have been killed, David. Or you could have killed someone else."

He felt like he was going to choke. "Dad, it was fine," he lied.

"You made it home safe this time, but maybe you won't next time," Paul said. "You know your mother and I don't want you drinking. It isn't safe, and it's a bad example for Jonathan and Sophia."

"Can't Seth be their example?" Dave snapped. "He's the perfect son, they should just look up to him."

Paul frowned. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Dave sighed and ran his hand over his short hair. "Nothing," he muttered.

"You've been acting strangely for a while now," Paul said. "Especially since you went back to school. Is there something wrong?"

Dave stared at his shoes. He used to go to his dad for everything when he was a kid- every time he was upset, or hurt, or even just angry. Now what could he do?

_Yeah, Dad, something's wrong. I got drunk and tried to rape a guy in a parking lot, then I beat him up. Oh, and by the way, Dad, I'm gay. Hope you're okay with that._

"Nothing's wrong," he said in a low voice. "Just…pissed about football. We've been on a losing streak."

Paul's mouth turned down. "That's no reason to drink," he said. "We're taking your car away for a month, David. We'll give you rides to school and football, and that's it. You can have it back after Christmas break."

"Fine," Dave said. "Can I go now?"

Paul put his hand on his shoulder. "Your mom and I are doing this because we love you," he said. "We just don't want to see you destroy your life over a stupid decision. Getting a DUI or getting into a wreck while drunk will ruin your life."

Dave couldn't move. _Stupid decision? _he thought. _I would love it if my stupid decision was just a DUI._

He could never explain this. Never. There was no way. His parents might love him now, but they loved the football player who was dating a nice girl and going off to college in the fall. A carbon copy of his older brother.

There was no way they could ever love the awful person he really was.

Apparently his dad was waiting for an answer, but when Dave said nothing, Paul sighed reluctantly and patted him on the shoulder. "You can go," he said.

Dave backed away and booked it up the stairs, nearly running over Sophia in the hallway. "Ow," she complained. "Watch it, Davey, you almost knocked me over."

He stared down at his scowling little sister and she frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm just…pissed at Dad."

She tossed her long ash blonde hair over her shoulder. "'Cause they're taking your car away?" she said. "Yeah, that sucks."

Sophia looked so much older than he remembered. Usually he just saw her as some pesky grade schooler, trying to get on his nerves. But she would be thirteen in a few weeks.

Would he even still be home for her birthday? Or would he be locked away in an orange jumpsuit instead?

Dave reached over and pulled her into an awkward hug. "G'night, Soph," he mumbled.

She hugged him back tentatively. "Geez, you're acting weird," she said, pulling away quickly.

Jonathan dashed past them. "Guess what I found under your bed, Sophy?" he teased.

Sophia ran after him with a squeal. "Jonathan, give that back, you brat!' she bellowed.

Dave disappeared into the safe depths of his bedroom. It still looked the same as it did on Friday night when he came home, buzzed and dazed and bloody. He sank onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

Someone knocked lightly. "David, it's Mom," Laura called.

"Come in," he said begrudgingly.

She walked in with a small glass of water in her hand. "I brought you something for your headache," she said.

He held out his hand and she tipped two pills into his cupped palm. "Thanks," he said as he popped the pills.

"Your father talked to you, right?" she said. He nodded as she handed him the glass. "You need to deal with the consequences of your actions. You drive drunk, you don't get to drive."

He took a long swig of water and wiped the droplets off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I get it," he said bitterly.

Laura took the glass back. "We're doing it for your own good, David," she said firmly. "Now get some rest. You look like you haven't gotten any sleep this weekend." "Staying up late playing video games," he mumbled.

Laura paused in front of his closed closet doors. "Oh, that's right, your jacket," she said. She threw the doors open. "How did it get dirty?"

He scrambled off his bed and bolted towards the closet. Laura stepped back.

_She can't find it, not the shirt, if she finds it I'll be dead…_

He whipped the jacket off the hanger and thrust it in his mother's hands. "It, uh, I dropped it," he said. "Put it in the front seat of my car and it, uh, fell out when I opened the door."

Laura looked at him warily while he stared at the front of the jacket. Even in the bright lights of his bedroom, he couldn't see the blood, but he knew it was there. Big red droplets of Kurt Hummel's blood, soaked deeply in the red of his beloved letterman's jacket.

No amount of dry-cleaning would ever make him forget that.

"All right," Laura said. "I'll take it in tomorrow. Good night, honey."

"'Night, Mom," he whispered.

She left the room with his jacket draped over her arm and closed the door behind her. Dave stared into the depths of his closet. He knew the shirt was still there, the white shirt stained red, and he didn't know what to do.

Should he destroy it- burn it, maybe? Or keep it hidden away so that no one would ever find it, even its ashes?

And should he turn himself in, or wait for the police to come to him?

He sank down to the floor, leaving heavily against the wall with his head in his hands. His parents were doing everything they could to prevent him from making a mistake and ruining his life.

Too bad he had already done it. And there was nothing anyone could do, not even himself, to make it better.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

It's very, very odd to try to get inside Karofsky's head.

This chapter actually links, in a way, to one of my oneshots, "Now That There's Time to Think." I created the rest of the Karofsky family in that story, and I brought them back for this. I know it's kind of weird to write Dave as part of a very stable, upper middle class family with both parents and several siblings, but that's the storyline that jumped out at me to write.

Kat and I are working ridiculously hard on this story. It's insane. Our MO is to get together and talk through our ideas, then she writes out the outline and I write the actual story. She's also reading a massive book on criminal law, in order to prepare properly for the second half of the story. We are officially crazy people.

The next chapter is going to be...interesting. I'm a little scared to start writing that one, to be honest. Basically, everything is going to hit the fan. I suspect I'm going to cry over that one.


	10. If It's Written

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

"So he seriously taught the entire football team the 'Single Ladies' dance?" Blaine said.

Quinn laughed. "It was the funniest thing I've ever seen," she said. "All of those guys in their football gear, trying to shimmy their hips. The other team didn't know what to do with themselves."

Mercedes scooted closer to Blaine, her phone in her hand. "I got a picture of him in his uniform," she said. "See?"

Blaine smiled at the photo. "That's hilarious," he said. "How did he get on the team?"

"Finn coached him," Rachel said. "Didn't you, Finn?"

Finn glanced up. He hunched over in his chair, his phone clasped in his hands. "What?" he said. "Oh. Oh, yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "He was, uh, pretty good."

Rachel rubbed Finn's back. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked. "You've been so quiet this afternoon."

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, just kind of tired, I guess."

Mercedes leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows. "We're all tired," she said. "And I wish Kurt would let us see him."

Blaine shook his head. "His parents have been checking on him every twenty minutes, it seems like, and he either doesn't want to see anyone or he's asleep," he said.

Truthfully, he was getting a little worried. It was past seven. Visiting hours would be over soon, and Kurt still hadn't told anyone, as far as he could tell. Burt had gone to his room to visit several times, but he had only stayed for ten minutes or so at a time. That clearly wasn't long enough for Kurt to tell his father anything of any deep meaning, and surely if he knew the truth, Burt would storm out of the room with fire in his eyes, out for blood.

Maybe Kurt was waiting until night, when everyone else had left. His dad was probably going to stay with him, maybe he would do it then. It seemed like something Kurt would do. Wait it out, only talk to one person while no one else was around, confess at a time where no one could do much of anything.

But if Kurt didn't tell the truth by the next morning, he was going to tell Burt. This couldn't go on for much longer.

Quinn tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "This is a waiting game, Mercedes," she said calmly. "We have to wait for Kurt to be ready to see us."

"Well, we can't come back tomorrow, we have school," Mercedes said. She toyed with the rows of bracelets on her wrist. "I have to see him."

Quinn patted her shoulder. "We just have to wait," she repeated. Mercedes didn't look too happy with that idea, but she said nothing.

Carole got up from the corner where the adults had been talking and walked towards them. "Hey, kids," she smiled. "Are you all still holding up all right?"

"As well as could be expected," Rachel said.

"Blaine's parents are going to take us out to get something to eat," Carole said. "Burt just checked on Kurt and he's asleep, so if you kids want to go down to the cafeteria and get something, I'm sure it'll be fine. We'll be back in an hour or two."

"We can handle things," Quinn said.

"Just call us if anything changes," Carole said. She paused and brushed Finn's hair away from his forehead. "Are you feeling all right, honey?"

"I'm fine," Finn said. His eyes were wide and glazed over. "Just…thinking a lot, that's all."

Carole laughed softly. "Well, don't break anything," she said. She kissed him lightly on the top of the head. "We'll be back soon."

Blaine offered a wave to his parents as they gathered their coats. His mother smiled at him and returned his wave as she followed his father and Kurt's parents out of the waiting room. If he knew his parents (and he did) they were probably going to have a heart to heart talk with Kurt's parents about what Kurt was going to have to go through before he could get better.

He knew he had given his family a hard time after his own incident. The moodiness, the depression, the sudden irrational fears…it was miserable, for him and for them. He knew he made his mother cry a lot; he knew his father was having trouble keeping his patience with him. Francey was the only one who treated him like he was normal. And honestly, that was what he needed.

When he came home on weekends and breaks from Dalton, Francey still called him embarrassing nicknames and ruffled his hair and trounced him at video games. She still yelled at him when he messed with her stuff and called him out when he was feeling sorry for himself. And she was the one that hugged him silently when he crept into her room in the middle of the night, tears streaming down his face from yet another nightmare, and would stay with him until he fell asleep, huddled in her arms.

Kurt needed someone to treat him normally. That would help him more than being treated like a fragile china doll. His parents could hover over him, his brother could be overprotective, his girl friends could baby him. But he needed someone that would just _be _there, that he could feel normal around, that could make forget that any of this ever happened.

_I could do that, _he thought. _I can be that for him._

Blaine glanced up as Mercedes pushed her bracelets back up her arm and stood up. "Any of you guys hungry?" she asked. "I'm not, but I'm so tired of just sitting here."

"Me too," Quinn said. She stood up and smoothed her skirt. "Finn, Rachel? Are you coming too?"

"I suppose," Rachel said. She patted Finn's back. "Come on, I'm sure you're hungry."

The phone slipped from Finn's hand; Blaine reached over and picked it up. The screen lit up with the last text message, and Blaine couldn't help but read it.

_Come see me? By yourself._

It was from Kurt.

Blaine froze, Finn's phone still in his hand. "Thanks," Finn mumbled, taking it back.

Rachel tucked her hand into Finn's. "Let's go," she said.

"I'll, uh…I'll be there in a minute," Blaine said. They walked off without him, and he stood still, trying to put the pieces together.

So Kurt had texted Finn, asking him to come see him.

Did Finn go to see him?

Yeah. Yeah, he must have. He went to the bathroom a couple of hours ago, and he was gone for a while.

He didn't go to the bathroom, he went to talk to Kurt.

And Finn came back shaken and quiet.

Kurt must have told him something.

Blaine clenched his fists. _He told Finn, _he thought. _Of all the people he could tell, he told Finn. Why?_

He stared at the plain navy carpet, and he knew why Kurt told his stepbrother instead of his father.

Because Kurt could control Finn, that's why.

Kurt had done it on purpose. He obeyed Blaine and told someone, but he still wanted to be the one with the upper hand. So he told someone who wouldn't take the control away from him.

This was not how things were supposed to go.

Before he could talk himself out of it, like he usually was so good at doing, he walked down the hall to Kurt's room. He didn't pause at the door or hesitate before taking hold of the doorknob. He just walked inside.

Kurt was lying on his back with his head turned to the side, away from him. Blaine closed to door behind him. "Hey, Kurt," he said.

Kurt made a small unhappy noise. "I know you're not asleep," Blaine said. "We need to talk."

Kurt turned towards him, his blue-green eyes bleary. "About what?" he rasped.

Blaine slid his hands in his pockets. "I think you know," he said quietly.

Kurt rubbed his forehead with the back of his good hand. "I promised you, didn't I?" he said. "I promised I would tell, and-"

"I wanted you to tell your _parents_," Blaine said.

Kurt lifted his chin. "Yes, well, you didn't specify that," he said.

"So you told Finn."

Kurt faltered. "You said I needed to tell someone," he said. "I trust Finn. He's my brother."

"He's a scared kid, Kurt, just like you," Blaine said.

Kurt pushed himself slowly into a sitting position, resting his weight on the hand hooked up to the IV. "I'm not a scared kid," he said. "I'm fine. I can handle this. I've been handling it for months."

"You might think you're not a scared kid, but Finn definitely is," Blaine said. "Do you think he can help you."

"He promised to protect me," Kurt said. "He…he promised. At the wedding. So I'm going to go back to McKinley, and he can protect me, and this can all go away."

"You really think you can go back there?" Blaine said incredulously.

"I can't go back to Dalton," Kurt said. "Not now, not after…" He closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths. "I just can't, all right? I'm going to go back to McKinley where Finn can protect me."

"Really," Blaine said. He took a step closer and pulled his hands out of his pockets. "You're just going to go to back there? Where Karofsky can keep stalking you?"

Kurt bit his lip. "It's…it's the best I can do," he said.

"That's because this shouldn't be up to you, Kurt," Blaine said. He leaned his hands on the edge of Kurt's bed. "You need to tell someone who can _do _something to help you, not someone you can manipulate just so you can keep your upper hand."

"I am not manipulating Finn," Kurt said in a low voice.

"That's exactly what you're doing," Blaine argued. "You told Finn so that I would get off your case but you could keep control. But Kurt, you're not in control of anything anymore. Not after this."

"I can handle this, Blaine," Kurt said through gritted teeth. "I've handled it just fine so far."

"You can't keep doing this," Blaine said, shaking his head. "It's only get worse. And what if Karofsky doesn't let up? He threatened to kill you, and to be honest, he came pretty damn close."

Kurt paled, his hands clenching like claws over his blanket. "I never said it was him," he said.

"It had to be," Blaine said. "No one else could have done this. It makes sense. Just tell someone, Kurt. Tell them what he did to you in the locker room, and tell them what he did that landed you in this hospital bed, and then you can start moving on. If you don't let go of this, it's going to eat you away on the inside."

Kurt turned his head away sharply, arms folded across his chest, eyes boring a hole through the single window. "I know what it's like," Blaine persisted. "It's the only thing you can think about. The only memory you hold on to. And everyone around you is constantly reminding you about it. They call it nice, sanitized names like 'the incident' or 'the situation' and they ask you how you're doing until you want to scream."

"I'm fine," Kurt said in a low voice.

Blaine took a step back. "No, you're not," he said. "You aren't fine, Kurt, and you're not going to be until you stop internalizing all of this." He rummaged in his back pocket for his phone. "I'm going to call your dad."

"No," Kurt said. He snapped his head back around to glare at Blaine. "No. You can't do that. You have no right."

"I have every right," Blaine said. "I know what happened in that locker room. I know that for sure. I was the first person you talked to about. I'm the closest thing you've got to a witness. And I guarantee that if I tell your dad about it, Karofsky will be in jail in a second."

"You can't tell my dad," Kurt said desperately. "You don't understand. He's been sick. I can't give him another heart attack."

"So what is all this, then?" Blaine said, gesturing broadly at the metal bed and industrial white sheets and the IV tubing hooked into Kurt's arm. "You don't think this is already killing your dad? He's been sitting in that waiting room all day, waiting for you to tell him the truth. He knows you're lying, Kurt, and you're only making things worse."

Kurt stared down at his knees. Blaine sighed and stepped closer. "I know you're upset," he said. "But you need to hand this over to someone else. It's hard, but it's the only thing that'll help. I had to tell my parents everything about what happened to me. They got me through it."

"Well, maybe I don't just run to my mommy and daddy every time things get a little rough for me," Kurt retorted.

Blaine drew back, biting back the angry reply he wanted to spit out. But Kurt sank back against the pillows, one arm crossed over his stomach, and he forced his thoughts back in an attempt to restrain himself. Kurt was scared and in a lot of pain, and it wouldn't help anything if he lost his temper.

"That's a low blow, and you know it," he finally said in a low voice. "I know I ran. And I have to live with the decision I made to be weak instead of standing up to myself. But I don't regret telling my parents what happened to me."

"I'm not you, Blaine," Kurt said sharply. "I've been taking care of myself since I was eight. When my mother died, I stopped going to my dad with every little problem. He didn't need that, not while he was still grieving. And I learned how to handle things myself."

"You make it sound like Karofsky tripped you or something," Blaine scoffed. "This isn't some little problem. He almost raped you."

"Don't say that," Kurt said.

"That's what he did," Blaine said recklessly. "He almost raped you, and you're too busy keeping everything to yourself that you're just going to let him get away with it."

"I can handle it," Kurt insisted, his cheeks flushing and his voice rising.

"No, you can't," Blaine said. "You can't!"

"Shut up!" Kurt shouted.

"Stop being such a brat!" Blaine yelled right back. "You've got all these people who are dying to help you, and you're so caught up in your own issues that you won't let them! What are you waiting for? Waiting for Karofsky to really rape you?"

"Why? Is that what you want?" Kurt jeered.

"Well, I don't know, is that what will make you come to your senses?" Blaine shot back.

"Get out of here!" Kurt bellowed. He grabbed a full water glass off his bedside table and threw it with all the force in his body. Blaine didn't have time to move. It slammed into his forehead, drenching him in tepid water. The glass fell to the ground and smashed into sharp glittering pieces.

Kurt hunched over on his bed, breathing hard, his hair flopping over his face. But the color started to drain from his cheeks and his eyes widened.

Blaine blinked and moved his shaking hand over his face, wiping uselessly at the water. "Kurt, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

Kurt raised his trembling right hand. The IV tubing swung back and forth beside his bed, dripping the saline cocktail on the tile floor. The needle dangled at the end of the tubing. Kurt's chest heaved.

"Oh, God," Blaine breathed. "Kurt, I-"

"It came out," he said in a small voice. He stared at the back of his hand. "It…I'm bleeding. Blaine, I'm bleeding."

Blaine cupped his face in his hands. "Kurt, I'm sorry," he said. "It's okay, you're okay. Just don't look at it."

Kurt's eyes were already beginning to cloud. "He made me bleed," he mumbled blearily. "He…he hurt me, and I was bleeding." He raised his shaking hand. "Oh my god…"

"Kurt, no, don't look at it," Blaine coaxed, still trying to turn Kurt's attention away. "Just lie down and close your eyes and I'll get a nurse."

Blood trickled down the back of Kurt's hand and trailed down his forearm. Kurt's lips parted as his chest heaved with short, rapid breaths, and all of a sudden he screamed. Blaine backed up, stumbling. Kurt kept screaming, an awful, feral sound, his whole body shaking as he stared at the blood that quickly soaked the blankets.

The door banged open and Finn ran inside. "Kurt, what's going on?" he demanded. "Why're you- oh, god, Kurt, why are you bleeding?"

Finn shoved Blaine out of the way, forcibly slamming him into the wall, and grabbed Kurt around his waist. Kurt collapsed in Finn's arms, sobbing. "What did you do?" Finn demanded, hugging Kurt close to his chest.

"I didn't…I didn't mean to…" Blaine stammered.

Finn held Kurt tightly, one arm around his waist and his other hand pressing Kurt's head to his chest, turning his gaze forcibly away. "It's okay, buddy," he said in his brother's ear. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here. Stop crying, okay?"

The girls followed close behind Finn. Rachel halted in the doorway and stumbled back, her hands over her mouth. "Oh my god, he's bleeding," she mumbled.

Quinn moved Rachel aside and sat down on Kurt's bed, pulling him out of Finn's strangling embrace. "Finn, get a nurse," she commanded as she covered Kurt's hand.

Finn unfolded himself from the bed, letting Quinn cradle Kurt in her arms, his eyes locked on Blaine. "What did you do?" he said in a low voice.

"I…I didn't mean to, we got into an argument, and he got angry," Blaine said. "I didn't hurt him, Finn, I would never hurt him."

"What the hell were you arguing about?" Finn said. "He's in the hospital, Blaine. He's sick, and he's hurt, and you were _fighting _with him? What the hell is so important that you had to argue about it right now?"

"I think you know," Blaine said, leveling his gaze.

Finn blanched. "You know?" he said.

"I was the only person who did, up until now," Blaine said.

"Know about what?" Mercedes demanded. She stood in the doorway, holding Rachel up. "What do you got on my boy, Blaine?"

"This is not the time," Quinn snapped. Kurt sagged limply in her arms, his head against her shoulder and his mouth open as he cried out. Quinn balanced his wrist in her hand and held his bleeding arm to the side. "Work this out later, we need to get a nurse."

Finn pushed past Blaine, this time purposefully planting his hand on his chest and shoving him against the wall. He disappeared into the hall without pausing to comfort Rachel, who was quietly crying with her hands over her mouth.

Blaine stared blankly at Kurt. He huddled in Quinn's arms, gasping for breath as she braced his bleeding hand. "You should go, Blaine," she said quietly.

He obeyed blindly and walked into the hall. After just a few steps he heard the door to Kurt's room slam behind him and Mercedes grabbed him by the arm.

"What the hell was that about?" she seethed.

He shook his arm free. "Why are you asking me?" he said dully.

Mercedes followed him down the hall, dogging his steps. "Because he was fine until you got in there," she said. "What's wrong with him? Why's he bleeding? What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything, Mercedes," he said.

She latched onto his sleeve, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall. "Don't you pull this shit with me," she said in a low voice. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is not me," he snapped, pulling his arm away. "It's Kurt, he's the one with the problems."

"He's stuck in a hospital, no duh he's got problems," she retorted.

"No, you don't understand, he's been lying to you," Blaine said. She took a step back, and he kept going on. "He's been lying to you, all of you, for months."

"About what, pretty boy?" she sneered. "Kurt is my best friend. He'd never lie to me. And he would never lie to his daddy."

"Really, Mercedes?" he said, his voice tight. "Then why did he have to leave McKinley the second he found out David Karofsky was coming back after his expulsion? Or didn't he tell you?" He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "He didn't? Funny. He told me."

Mercedes said nothing. She just leveled a glare at him that could melt stone, but he wasn't stupid. He could already see the doubt beginning to erode the edges of her confidence.

"Why did he stop eating?" Blaine pushed. "Why did he start wearing thicker and thicker layers of clothing? Why was he so upset all the time?" He leaned towards her. "Or didn't you notice?"

The nurse brushed past them into Kurt's room, leaving the door ajar. Blaine faltered at the sight of Kurt lying limply in Quinn's arms, still sobbing. She rocked him against her shoulder, her cheek pressed against the top of his head. It reminded him of Michaelangelo's Pieta statue, the mother cradling her dead son, but in living flesh instead of cool marble. The door swung shut, and Blaine looked back at Mercedes, his tirades dying on his lips.

She stared back, blankly angry. "You can go to hell, Anderson," she said.

Without another word he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the hallway. He kept his steady path, his steps even and his head held high, until he was out of the hospital. The winter wind cut through his shirt and bit at his skin. He rummaged in his pocket for his car keys, yanked them out, and climbed into his jeep.

Screw them. Screw them all.

He revved the engine, his stereo and heater both blaring to life, and he roared out of the hospital parking lot, narrowly missing an incoming vehicle. He really shouldn't be driving. Not now. Not while he was still angry. But he couldn't stay there.

He hadn't lost his temper in years. Not like this. He railed against his parents, he squabbled with his sister, he disagreed with his friends on occasion. But that was calm. Measured. Logical. Reasonable.

He thought that was the kind of person he was now.

He worked so hard to maintain his sensible persona. He wasn't the little kid who sobbed at the bullies who picked on him. He wasn't the angry boy who screamed at the adults who were only trying to help. He spent years learning to control his temper, to channel his anger into something productive, to remind himself that lashing out wasn't going to make the nightmares go away.

Blaine swore under his breath as he ran a red light without thinking. Great. He was swearing now too. What next?

His therapist reassured him time and time again that the problem wasn't his own inherent violence, that he wasn't some kind of psychopathic maniac who was going to go ballistic when things didn't go just right. He wasn't a freak.

"You were a victim of violence," Dr. DePriest had told him in her soft, calm voice while he sniffled in the armchair next to hers. "Not just the incident, but for years before, when you were teased and bullied by other people. You're hurting, Blaine, and you're lashing out because you don't know how else to express your pain."

She spent the next year and a half's worth of sessions teaching him how to deal. That he could build something when he wanted to tear it down instead. That he could sing instead of screaming. That he could take a deep breath and count to ten instead of spilling out all of the angry words he wanted to say.

It took a long time. His first semester at Dalton, the spring semester of freshman year, had been rocky. He got in trouble for mouthing off in class, for having meltdowns during rehearsals, for sneaking out of his dorm room after hours to go running.

He loved running. It was a release. He would wait until his roommate was asleep before slipping on his trainers and a hoodie, slipping his iPod into his pocket and sneaking out the back door. When he reached the deserted soccer field he would turn on his music and run, just run, his sneakers slipping on the damp grass and his breaths puffing into the air and his chest seizing up with effort.

He loved running, but he could never quite shake the feeling that he was always running from _something._

Blaine started to turn his red jeep onto the interstate onramp, but at the last second he changed his mind and stayed on the main road. Better to take the long way home, while he was still putting his thoughts together.

He tried not to think about his freshman year at all, whether it was his last semester at Radnor or his first semester at Dalton. Neither was particularly enjoyable. But after experiencing a zero-tolerance policy firsthand and a full summer of biweekly therapy sessions, his sophomore year took off smoothly. By the time he reached December and the first anniversary of _the incident_, he was unrecognizable- cool, calm, collected. Sensible to a fault, kind and considerate, unfazed by any situation he found himself in. And now he couldn't remember that last time he lost his temper.

Except for twenty minutes ago, that is.

So why now? Why did he have to fulfill his sister's dark prophecy and "flip his shit," so to speak?

Blaine gripped the steering wheel as he tried to think back. If he even could. He wasn't thinking clearly. That wasn't good. He took a long, deep breath and counted to ten.

It did nothing.

He needed to get to the root of the problem. That would help. If he could figure out what was making him so upset, he could tackle the problem head on and get past it.

So what was it that was bothering him?

What was bothering him was losing his temper. He lost his temper because he was frustrated. Kurt was frustrating.

Kurt was always frustrating.

Kurt got under his skin from the start, when he caught his attention on the Dalton stairwell. One second he was running down the steps with his watch in his hands, thinking about his last class and his upcoming performance and what the dining hall was going to serve for lunch, and the next he was dead in his tracks, his attention caught by the pale boy with the brilliant eyes and the soft voice.

He thought that was it. That it was a one-time thing, and that he would probably never see Kurt again. But he came back the next day, still trying to play undercover spy and failing miserably. The conversation they had over coffee stayed with him for days. He couldn't forget the way Kurt held his chin high, proud and stubborn, even when his eyes clouded. Kurt was dealing with so much, and yet he stayed obstinate, determined to stand up against his tormentors. He still didn't know what exactly compelled him to give Kurt his phone number, but when Kurt called him just a few days later, he was glad he did.

To be truthful, his heart stopped when Kurt told him about the kiss. He had never experienced anything like that, and Kurt certainly didn't deserve it. He tried to help, he really did, but he was never entirely sure if he had made things better or worse for Kurt.

So he tried to distract him. Take him to dinner and malls and shows, give him an opportunity to relax and feel normal for a little while. Ask him about his day, give him advice as best as he could, offer a shoulder to cry on (which Kurt never accepted). And for a while, it seemed like things improved.

But one second he was making the two-hour drive to Lima a time or two a week, and the next he was staring at Kurt in the hallways of Dalton, pale and smiling hesitantly and dressed in an impeccable uniform. It took only a moment to resolve to do whatever it took to help Kurt. After all, he understood it, didn't he? Transferring from the toxic environment of a homophobic public school to the shining, perfect Dalton bubble was hard. Kurt needed someone to look out for him. Mentor him. Because that's what he needed, more than anything else. He just needed a friend who could offer a empathetic listening ear and rational advice.

Kurt didn't seem to want that. He still seemed to keep everything to himself, drawing further and further away, still proud and stubborn and obstinate. There was no way to get through to him.

Blaine slapped the steering wheel in frustration. God, this kid drove him crazy. And he still didn't know why. He took a deep, slow breath and tried to count, but he only managed to get to six before another car on the road tried to cut him off; he veered a sharp right and swore loudly. His eyes stung and he dashed at them.

He hated Kurt's stubbornness, but at the same time, he couldn't help but admire him for it. He did exactly what Blaine couldn't- he stood up for himself. He fought back. He didn't allow himself to dissolve into a sobbing, angry mess that could barely be put back together again.

What was it he said to Kurt? Something about…calling his tormentors out, choosing not to be a victim. Kurt obviously took that to heart.

What Kurt didn't know was that those were the sort of thing he told himself when he thought back to his own experiences. So many nights he fell asleep replaying the scene by the dumpster in his head, thinking of other things he could have said, could have done. How would it have ended if he had had the balls to stand up for himself? To have the courage that he only pretended to have?

If only he had been as brave as Kurt was.

Something prickled behind his eyes; he rubbed at them with his knuckles. He had to stop thinking like this. He had to forget that he wasn't brave then, that wasn't the problem anymore. He had to be brave _now. _For Kurt.

He had hoped that Kurt didn't have to go through this. He had hoped that getting his tormentor expelled would save him- it didn't. He had hoped that transferring to a new school would save him- it didn't. Someone had to save Kurt from his own pride and the fears he was desperately trying to push aside.

And oh, he wanted to be that person.

The first time he saw Kurt cry was across the table in the Dalton student lounge. His skin turned blotchy and his eyes turned glassy and his fingers clutched his coffee cup in a death grip. And when Kurt offered his quiet confession, all he wanted to do was pull him into a hug and protect him.

But he didn't do that. Because that wasn't what a mentor did. And that was all he was, wasn't he? Just a mentor. Just a friend. Just trying to help.

Blaine's vision blurred. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, but it did nothing to distract him. A stray tear dripped down his cheek despite himself.

He couldn't take this anymore. Seeing Kurt like this made his heart ache. It brought back all those memories of feeling helpless and hopeless, reduced to angry outbursts and temper tantrums to make him feel like he had some semblance of control again, as if he could destroy his enemies if he was only loud enough.

He couldn't bear it, but he had to face the facts. There was nothing he could do now, as a friend or a mentor, to help Kurt. He couldn't force him to tell the truth, and even if he told someone what he did know for sure, it wouldn't heal Kurt. He couldn't save him like this.

Blaine turned the car into his neighborhood, his knuckles turning white. His chest ached powerfully, and he swiped uselessly at the tears on his cheeks.

So why was he doing this if it hurt so much?

An audible sob broke from his throat, muffled by the obnoxious sound of the radio, and reality sank into him.

Because he couldn't bear the thought of Kurt in pain, whether it came from broken ribs or a broken spirit.

Because he didn't want to forget what he looked like when he laughed, his eyes squinching up and his dimple popping in his cheek.

Because he wanted to hear him sing again, not because of an audition or a rehearsal but because he just felt like it.

Because he wanted to hold him so desperately but had always kept back, resigning himself to pats on the knee or touching his shoulder or adjusting his lapel that didn't need to be fixed.

Because he knew that as much as his heart ached now, it would be unbearable if he didn't stay beside him.

Because he loved him.

_He loved him._

Blaine pulled his jeep into the driveway, parked, and doubled over, sobbing. He rested his forearm on his steering wheel and dropped his head. Tears soaked into his sleeve, and he didn't care anymore.

He had never felt like this before. Not about anyone.

He had had crushes, he had dated a couple of different people, he had even fooled around some. But none of those relationships ever made his heart ache like this. And this wasn't even a relationship.

He had to face it. He loved Kurt. That was all.

He spent the weekend camped in a hospital waiting room because he was desperate to see his blue eyes open and see for himself that he was all right. He comforted Kurt's family and friends because he wanted so badly to be a part of that sacred inner circle of Kurt's life. He lashed out at Kurt because he was so scared and so helpless to save him that he didn't know how to handle it.

Blaine huddled in the driver's seat of his car and bawled like he was seven instead of seventeen. He hadn't cried like this in years. The heater kept blaring and the radio kept playing, and he sobbed aloud until his throat ached and his eyes stung and he didn't have any tears or any energy left.

For a while he just sat there, sagging against the restraint of the seatbelt with his forehead resting on his arm. The radio kept on, falsely cheerful, and a song started to play that finally caught his attention. He sat up, wiping at his damp eyes and his running nose with his sleeve.

The song's lyrics hit a little too close to home and he let out a short, painful attempt at a weak laugh. He took a deep breath, his chest relaxing, and he put his jeep into reverse.

If he drove fast, he could be back at the hospital in twenty minutes. He rammed his foot on the gas pedal, making the engine rev, and sped back towards the interstate. The song kept playing, and after a while, almost without realizing it, he started to sing along, his voice harsh and croaking, but he didn't care.

"I would have stayed up with you all night," he rasped softly, "had I known how to save a life."

Nineteen minutes to the hospital.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Oh, my goodness. This was hard to write. I know I say that a lot, but so many parts have been hard for different reasons. This chapter was hard because it was difficult to bring Blaine through his chain of thoughts. I think I really tapped into a previously untouched part of his character, and I think it's going to be a lot easier to write him for the rest of this story.

This also turned out a lot more personal than I expected it to. I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was eleven (although I had been dealing with it since I was six) and I had the same issues with emotional meltdowns and losing my temper; it stemmed from an inability to control what was happening to me and the fact that I felt like I couldn't get anyone to listen to me or understand me. Blaine's mental processes work the same way- he didn't lose his temper because he's some rage-filled maniac who wants to hurt people, he just lashes out because he doesn't know how else to express what he's feeling. But I think that now that's he had this breakthrough, he'll not only have an easier time dealing with his own issues, but he'll be able to express them better.

I swear that there will be some bright spots in this story. There are three more chapters to this act, and then a delightfully lighthearted intermission that lasts three chapters (and one of those six chapters will have a Klaine kiss!).

But, uh, then the last twelve chapters of the story will be back on the ol' emotional roller coaster.

So now we have seen Blaine flip his shit. Next chapter...he talks to Kurt. That's going to be a lot more fun to write.

(Also, I asked Kat to help me find the song that Blaine hears on the radio, she texted back "How to Save a Life" by the Fray. She ended up getting so excited over it that she called me at midnight because the lyrics are so, so, _so _perfect. And they are. So...give it a try reading this while listening to the song, maybe? I ended up listening to it pretty much the whole time I was writing.)


	11. Stitch It Up

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine tried to still the trembling in his hands as he walked into the pediatrics ward. He couldn't wait to see Kurt, but the thought of trying to explain himself to Kurt's friends and family made him more than a little nervous.

_I have to do this, _he told himself. _If I want to talk to Kurt, I have to get through them first._

The door to Kurt's room was closed. Blaine squared his shoulders and knocked lightly, then stepped back. No one answered; he waited as patiently as he could.

At long last, Carole opened the door. "Blaine," she said, surprised. "I thought you were gone."

"I left for a while, but I had to come back," he said. "May I talk to Kurt, please?"

"No," Carole said quietly. "I'm sorry, Blaine, but now isn't really a good time."

His heart ached. "Then can I please talk to Finn?" he said.

"He left already," Carole said. "Rachel got sick at the sight of all that blood and he had to take her home."

"What about Mercedes?" Blaine said.

"She and Quinn left with them," Carole said. "Blaine, I really think you ought to go home."

"Please, I just need to talk to Kurt," Blaine said, edging a little closer. "It's important."

"I think you've said enough for one day," Carole said. She stood in the doorway with the door partly cracked, blocking both his path and his view inside. "Give Kurt a chance to rest. We'll let him decide for himself if he wants to talk you."

She started to close the door. Blaine stuck his foot in the way. "Please, you don't understand," he said desperately. "I have to talk to him."

"Blaine, honey, go home," Carole said. She was calm, but he could tell that underneath, she was upset. Mostly at him. "If Kurt wants to talk to you, we'll let you know."

She moved to close the door, but a large hand held it open. Blaine took a step back. "Mr. Hummel," said.

"Anderson," Burt said flatly. "I didn't expect to see you back here."

"Yes, well…" he started to say.

Burt turned to Carole and touched her arm lightly. "Hon, can you go sit with Kurt?" he asked.

"Sure," Carole said. She gave Blaine one last long look before disappearing into the room. Blaine looked up at Kurt's father, who leveled his gaze at him, unsmiling and unyielding.

"You want to explain your side of the story?" Burt said.

Blaine faltered. "What do you know?" he asked.

"I'm not real sure," Burt said, folding his arms across his chest. "We come back and my kid is screaming like an axe murderer is chasing him. My stepson's girlfriend is getting sick in the hall, my son's best friend is sobbing like someone just broke her heart, and there's blood spattered everywhere. And you're gone. So what's your side of the story, 'cause to be honest, kid, it ain't looking real good for you."

Blaine took a deep breath. "I didn't hurt Kurt," he said. "I would never hurt him. I went in there to talk to him, and we lost our tempers with each other. He threw a water glass at me and he ripped his IV out. That's when he...he lost it."

"He threw it at you," Burt repeated with a frown. "Explains the glass on the floor. That where you got that bruise?"

Blaine frowned and touched his forehead, wincing when he probed a sore spot. "Yes, sir," he said.

Burt shook his head. "My kid does have a pretty bad temper when he wants to," he said. "So why'd you leave?"

"I can have a pretty bad temper too," Blaine confessed. "I had already said some things I shouldn't have to Mercedes, and I left before I made things worse for anybody."

"But you came back," Burt said.

"Yes, sir," Blaine said. He did his best to keep his voice level. "I never meant to hurt him, or abandon him like that. I really wanted to apologize."

Burt glanced over his shoulder towards his son, then back to Blaine. "What did you two fight over?" he asked.

Blaine paused, choosing his words carefully. "I suspected that Kurt knew more than he's been letting on," he said at last.

"You know what's going on with him?" Burt said. He shook his head, scowling. "God, I knew he was lying to me."

"I don't know exactly what he's hiding, but I have my suspicions," Blaine said. He clenched his hands at his sides. "I gave him an ultimatum this morning. I told him that either he could tell you everything by tomorrow morning, or I would tell you what I know and let you handle it from there."

Burt's gaze could probably bore through stone at this point. "What do you know?" he asked in a low voice.

"Mr. Hummel, I gave him my word," Blaine said. "I promise you, if he doesn't tell you by first thing tomorrow, then I will sit down with you and the detective and tell you everything I know. I would do it now, I want to tell you now, but I think you know as well as I do that if I break my promise, Kurt will never trust me again, and we might never get him to talk freely about what happened."

Burt sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You think you can get him to talk?" he said.

"Yes, I do," Blaine said. "Please, Mr. Hummel, if I could just see him-"

"I told you, Blaine, it's okay if you call me Burt," he said. "And I'd be happy to let you talk to him, but he's asleep. They had to sedate him, he won't wake up for a couple more hours."

Blaine swallowed hard. "Then please let me stay with him tonight," he said.

Burt straightened. "I don't know about that," he said warily. "I was gonna stay with him."

"I can do it," Blaine begged. "I can stay awake with him all night." Burt still didn't look convinced. "I think Kurt will be more upset if you stay with him. He always worries about your health."

Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, Carole's been on my case about that too," he said. He looked down at the floor. Blaine shifted his weight, trying his best to remain patient.

Finally Burt put his hand on his shoulder and looked Blaine right in the eyes. "Tell me straight," he said. "You care about my kid?"

"Yes," Blaine said quietly. "I really, really care about Kurt."

He stood steady under Burt's searching gaze. Finally Burt held the door open. "Come in here," he said.

Blaine stepped tentatively into Kurt's room, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Carole sat beside Kurt's bed, her back to them, but she turned when he walked in. "Burt?" she said. "What's going on?"

Burt cleared his throat. "Blaine's going to stay with Kurt tonight," he said. Carole opened her mouth to argue, but Burt interrupted. "You're right. I've been pushing myself too hard, and I don't want to give myself another heart attack, not while Kurt still needs me."

Carole's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" she said, and Blaine knew that she was asking a lot more than she said.

"I'm sure," Burt said. Blaine hung back in the doorway as Burt walked over to Carole, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her lightly on the top of her head. "Can you give us a minute? I'll be right out."

"Sure," Carole said warily. She squeezed Burt's hand and got up, but she shot Blaine a look that clearly stated that _if you mess up again, you'll certainly regret it. _Blaine just looked down at his shoes.

Burt sat down heavily in the chair beside his son's bed. He was silent for a minute, then he glanced back and beckoned. "C'mere," he said.

Blaine approached slowly. His heart still thudded hard, but it seemed like everything stopped when he finally dared to look at Kurt.

Kurt slept heavily, his lips parted. His skin looked translucent, lined with thready veins. His unblacked eye was shadowed with dark circles, and his breathing was shallow under the blankets. The palm of one hand was wrapped tightly with bright white bandages.

Burt leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "That IV needle," he said quietly. "It nicked the vein on the way out. That's why he bled everywhere."

"Oh," was all Blaine could say.

"The doctor said that seeing all the blood was a trigger, made him remember what happened in that damn parking lot," Burt said. "He had a panic attack. They had to sedate him before they could take a good look at his hand."

Blaine swallowed hard. "I never meant to hurt him," he whispered.

"If you're telling me the truth of what happened between you, then you didn't hurt him," Burt said. "I know my kid. I've seen what he gets like when he gets worked up. Losing his temper at you…that's about par for the course."

"I shouldn't have made him upset in the first place," Blaine said.

"And he shouldn't be lying," Burt said softly. He leaned forward and placed his hand on Kurt's forehead. "You know, I love Carole, and I love Finn like he was my own, but…Kurt's my kid. I was there when he was born, and I raised him by myself when his mom died. He's my little boy, and nobody's ever gonna get me to think otherwise."

He smoothed his big thumb over Kurt's forehead, brushing his hair back, then bent and kissed him lightly. Blaine took a step back as Burt pushed himself out of the chair. "I know my kid trusts you," Burt said. "And I'm glad you're doing your best to respect him, but please. If you can't get him to talk, then you have got to tell me."

"I will," Blaine promised. "I'll do anything for him."

Burt put his hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine bit his lip. He might have said too much.

"Good luck, kid," Burt finally said, and with one last backwards glance at his sleeping son, he left the room, the door closing behind him.

Blaine swallowed hard. The room was far too quiet now.

He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the chair. _What am I supposed to do now? _he thought.

He slid his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window. The hospital parking lot was bleak and boring, the dark sky blurred by gray clouds. He rested his forehead against the window, the glass cold against his skin. _I don't know what to do, _he thought helplessly.

He heard a soft noise and turned around. Kurt twisted a little in his sleep, his lips pressed together. Blaine crossed quickly to the bed and studied him anxiously. _Oh, God, I still don't know what to do…_

Tentatively Blaine placed his hand over Kurt's. His fingers felt smooth and cold and bony under his, but the bandage rubbed against his palm. "Hey," he whispered as Kurt whimpered in his sleep. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. I'm not going to go anywhere."

Blaine sank down in a chair and scooted a little closer. Kurt seemed to quiet down, his facial muscles relaxing. Blaine rubbed Kurt's fingers. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated softly, and he knew that he had made the right choice by coming back.

* * *

Someone was holding his hand.

He couldn't see anything, and his head ached powerfully, and his mouth was paper-dry, but he _knew _someone was holding his hand. He contracted his fingers slightly, trying to get the person's attention.

"Kurt?"

He knew that voice.

"Kurt, are you okay?"

He struggled to open his eyes. That's all he wanted. If he could just open his eyes…

His eyelids finally cracked open. The room blurred around him, but he could still feel the warm firm grip of the hand on his. "Hey, you're awake," he heard a familiar voice say.

Kurt tried to raise his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but his arm was too heavy. "It's okay," that blessedly familiar voice said. "Don't move too fast."

He closed his eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them. The room shifted into focus. The overhead lights were turned off, but the bedside lamp was turned on, casting a soft warm glow. He turned his head slowly towards the voice.

Blaine smiled at him, his amber eyes gentle. "Hey, there," he said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt swallowed hard and licked his dry lips. "Thirsty," he rasped.

Blaine rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "Want me to get you some water?" he asked. Kurt nodded and winced against the sudden throbbing pain. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't worry."

Blaine gave his hand a final gentle pat and got up. Kurt swallowed again. His head ached as he tried to think back. He couldn't remember much of anything. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Blaine walked back in the room with a full glass of water in his hand. "Can you sit up?" he asked.

"Maybe," Kurt said. He braced his good hand on the bed and tried to move.

"Do you want me to help?" Blaine asked.

His arm shook. "Uh-huh," he whispered.

Blaine quickly set the glass down and wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulders, drawing him up slowly and propping pillows behind his back. "Is that better?" he asked.

Kurt offered a slight nod. Blaine held out the glass of water and cupped Kurt's hands around it. He did his best to keep his hands from shaking as he raised the glass to his lips. The cool tap water flooded his dry mouth and trickled down his throat.

"Don't drink too fast," Blaine said gently. "I'll get you more water if you're still thirsty."

Kurt drained the glass dry. "Thanks," he said. "That's a lot better."

He held out the empty glass. "Thanks for not throwing it at me," Blaine quipped, the corner of his mouth tugging up wryly.

Kurt frowned. "What?" he said.

Blaine blinked. "You don't remember?" he said.

Kurt looked down, catching a glimpse of the bandage wrapped around his hand.

He argued with Blaine. He lost his temper. He threw something. And then…blood, and screaming, and a needle piercing his upper arm.

"Oh," he said in a small voice. He looked up, stricken, at Blaine.

"It's okay," Blaine reassured him quickly. "Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have made a joke."

Blaine seemed so different, for some reason. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to seeing him out of uniform. His long-sleeved tee shirt was rumpled, like he had slept in it, and his dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, barely obscuring a bruise on his forehead. Kurt stared at it.

"Did…did I do that to you?" he faltered.

Unconsciously Blaine ran his fingers over the mark. "It's nothing," he said. "It doesn't even hurt. I promise."

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, unable to tear his eyes away from the bruise. "I didn't mean to."

Blaine sat down beside him. "Kurt, do you remember why were fighting?" he asked.

"Not really, I don't think…" he started to say, but even as he said it, he could see it playing out in his head, like a movie he didn't want to watch. He remembered sitting up in bed, screaming at Blaine, and Blaine leaning over him, screaming too, taking every angry argument and hurtful word that Kurt shot at him and throwing it right back.

Kurt closed his eyes. "You were angry about Finn," he whispered. "Because I talked to Finn instead of my father."

"That's right," Blaine said, clasping his hands and resting them on his knees. "Look, Kurt, I had no right to get so angry at you. And I'm sorry for losing my temper. You didn't deserve that."

"Yes, I did," Kurt said. He tore his eyes away from Blaine and stared at the floor on the opposite side of his bed. "I shouldn't have told Finn. I know he's upset over…over all of this, and I…I used it against him." He rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe I did that."

"Kurt, you're scared," Blaine said.

Kurt crossed his arms across his chest. "It's not a real excuse," he said. He pressed his trembling lips together. "I did this to Finn before, once. I…I knew I could do it again, and…and I did it on purpose."

"Kurt, it's okay," Blaine said, placing his hand on the bed.

"No, it's not," Kurt said. He inhaled sharply, trying to calm his choked breathing. "I screwed up. I've screwed up everything, and I don't know how to make it better."

Blaine got out of the chair and sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Calm down."

Kurt didn't look at him. "It's not okay," he said. "Nothing's okay."

"Yes, it is," Blaine said firmly. "You're not a lost cause, Kurt. You never have been, and you never will."

Kurt bit his lip sharply. "Yeah, right," he said bitterly. He threw his hand down against his knees, making his bandaged hand throb. "There are so many things I've messed up. I just…I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what I can do to fix this."

Blaine fell silent for a moment, tapping his fingertips lightly on the bed. "Why do you feel like you're the only one who can fix things?" he asked quietly.

Kurt let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Because that's what I've always done," he said. "After my mother died, I just…I got used to doing things on my own. My dad had enough to deal with, he didn't need me making it worse for him."

He flexed his stiff hands, feeling the skin under the bandage pull strangely. They must have given him stitches. "And now I'm just used to it," he said. "I can take care of myself. I don't…I don't need people babysitting me. I'm fine. I'm always fine."

"Until now," Blaine finished quietly.

Kurt clenched his fists. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I know I should tell somebody what happened, but I…I can't, he'll…"

He clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath. All the things he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but just like every other time, he forced himself to push it aside. He wanted to talk. He really did. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

At last, Blaine broke the silence. Kurt felt him lean towards closer. "Did I ever tell you what happened to me?" he asked softly.

Without thinking, Kurt turned to look at him. "No," he said, startled.

Blaine folded his arms and looked down the blankets that covered Kurt's bed. His hazel eyes were soft and far away. "Three guys caught me outside in the parking lot," he said. "I said some stupid things, got them mad. It only last a few minutes, but…it felt like days."

Blaine leaned over and pushed up the right leg of his jeans. Kurt couldn't look away. He tugged it all the way up to his knee, revealing a thick pale scar that widened and stretched over his kneecap. "Thirty-seven stitches," he said ruefully.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered.

Blaine pushed the hem back down. "My sister found me," he said. "Francey's always been pretty tough. You know…the kind of girl who laughs instead of cries, and it startles you to the point that you start laughing too. She was the one who drove me to the hospital."

He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his dark curly hair. "They were really busy in the emergency room that night," he said. "Bad car accident on the ice, five cars of people were brought in. They couldn't take me right away. So Francey…"

Blaine's voice trailed off. Kurt tentatively reached for him, then drew back. He didn't know what to do.

"Francey pitched a fit until they put me in one of the triage rooms," Blaine said. "She made me lie down, with her scarf wrapped around my knee, and she held my hand, and she kept telling me it was going to be okay." He clasped his hands together tightly. "It wasn't until my parents got there and the doctor came in that I realized that she was crying too."

Kurt didn't move. He didn't dare.

"My sister never cries," Blaine whispered.

He bit down hard on his lip. Kurt hesitantly put his hand on Blaine's knee. He couldn't feel the scar through the fabric of his jeans. "I'm sorry," he said.

Blaine raised his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said quietly. "Not because of what happened to me. Or because of what happened to you."

He reached over and took Kurt's hands, folding his fingers around his. "You do know you didn't do anything to deserve this, right?"

Kurt looked away sharply. "I know," he said in a low voice.

Blaine gently placed his fingers under Kurt's chin and tilted his face back towards him. Kurt couldn't fight him. "I don't think you're convinced," he said. "Kurt, you haven't done anything to deserve. And you certainly didn't do anything to deserve carrying this entire burden by yourself."

Kurt froze. "I…I have to," he whispered. "I don't…I can't…"

Blaine kept Kurt's chin in his gentle grip. "Please tell me," he said softly.

Kurt tore away from him, digging his hands into the blankets. "Blaine, I can't," he said. "I…I can't, I don't know what to do anymore, but I just…I just can't…"

"Kurt, please," Blaine said. "Please, just talk to me." He put his hand on Kurt's thigh, the slight pressure warm and scary and oddly comforting. "You trusted me once. I was the one you called when Karofsky kissed you. Just trust me again."

"I can't," Kurt whimpered. His hand throbbed and his head ached and his stomach twisted. "I've made it this far. I'll be fine. I'm fine."

Blaine's hand tightened on his thigh. "Kurt, when you first confided in me, you came to me because I was a mentor," he said. "You opened up because I knew what you were going through. Being teased, being harassed…I know what it's like. And no, I don't know what you're going through right now, but I want to help you."

"I can't," Kurt whispered, his throat tightening.

Blaine pressed in closer. Kurt could smell the warm scent of his skin and the cinnamon gum on his breath. "Please look at me," he coaxed.

Kurt turned back towards him slowly, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Blaine was so close to him, his eyes bright and gentle. "What will change your mind?" he whispered. "Is there anything?"

"I don't…I don't know," Kurt faltered. "I just…Blaine, no, I can't, I'm fine, okay, I'm fine!"

Blaine slid off the bed, drawing his hand away from Kurt's leg. "Would it change your mind if…if I told you something?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," Kurt said, still clutching the blankets.

Blaine stood with his knees pressed against the side of the bed. He slid his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Did you know that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you?" he said.

Kurt stiffened. Silence roared in his ears. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see straight.

"You were…you were standing on the staircase, clutching the strap of your bag like it was a lifeline," Blaine said. "You were talking to me, and all I could think about was…how blue your eyes were."

Kurt stared at the far wall, unable to turn and look at Blaine. He didn't dare.

"I've tried not to be in love with you," Blaine admitted. "The last thing you need is to have someone be in love with you, and get you all mixed up in relationship drama on top of everything else. So I've been…I've been trying to push all of that aside."

Kurt tried to take a deep breath, but all he could manage were short, shallow pants. If his heart beat any faster it was going to explode.

"But I realized, Kurt…that's I'm not just in love with you," Blaine said. "I…I love you. I love you to the point that I would do anything for you. Anything at all, if I only I knew that it was what you wanted, and it would help you and it would make you happy."

Kurt heard a soft, heavy thump, and he turned around before he could stop himself. He caught his breath. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

Blaine knelt on the ground beside Kurt's bed, his head bowed. "I love you," he said simply. "Will you let me?"

"Blaine, don't," Kurt said. "Get up."

Blaine didn't move.

"Please," Kurt pleaded. "Blaine, you can't…you don't mean it."

"I do," Blaine said. "I mean it, Kurt. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. I love you." He looked up, his eyes shining. "And I will do whatever I can to help you."

Kurt stared at the blankets, his breath tightening in his lungs. _Say it_, he told himself. _Say it, say it, say it. Say it now, before you can take it back._

"It doesn't matter if you can't say it back, or even if you don't love me too," Blaine said. "My needs don't matter right now. Just yours. I love you. I'll do anything for you."

Kurt twisted his hands in the blankets, watching his knuckles whiten. He dug his teeth firmly into the side of his cheek. _Say it, say it, say it, _he thought.

"I love you," Blaine repeated.

Kurt felt the stitches tug against the back of his hand. He felt his heart vibrating in his ears, his breath constricting his throat, his muscles tightening unmercifully. _Say it, say it, say it…_

"Karofsky."

Blaine looked up. "Kurt?"

His eyes stung. "Karofsky did it," he whispered. He dug his hands into his blankets until he could feel the fibers under his fingernails; he stared wild-eyed at the blank bland walls. "Karofsky found me in the parking lot. I didn't know it was him at first, it was so dark, and I couldn't see, but he pulled back and it was…it was _him._"

Blaine stood up quickly, leaning over the edge of the bed. "Oh, Kurt," he breathed.

Words spilled out, faster, slurred together in his haste. "He wouldn't stop kissing me," Kurt said. "He…he tasted like alcohol, and I don't even _like _alcohol, and he kept jamming his tongue in my mouth, and that _still _wasn't enough for him. He didn't stop. He didn't stop anything, not even when I begged him to. I just wanted him to stop, and, and I was screaming, and I couldn't stop, and then he was hitting me, and…and…he said he was going to kill me, and he was, he was trying to kill me."

The last vestiges of self control abandoned him. Kurt doubled over on the bed with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, his head swimming and his body aching. His eyes burned and his throat felt tight; when he tried to keep talking all that came out was an awful strangled noise.

"Kurt, it's okay," Blaine said. "Tell me what you need. What do you need me to do, right now?"

Kurt knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't speak anymore. He made himself look up at Blaine, forcing his eyes to focus on him. "Blaine, I'm scared," he whispered. "I'm so scared."

Blaine leaned one hand on the bed and reached down with the other, tugging quickly on the laces of his sneakers. He kicked his Converses to the floor and climbed onto the bed, making the mattress dip under his weight. "I know," Blaine said, scooting closer to him. "I know."

Kurt pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Blaine was so close to him, so warm, so reassuring. He reached out a shaking hand and gripped Blaine's sleeve. "Please don't go," he whimpered.

Blaine wrapped his arms around him, careful of his sore shoulder and his broken ribs, and pulled him against his chest. "I won't," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, Kurt. Nothing you can do will push me away."

Kurt let out a sob, burying his face into Blaine's chest. He felt Blaine's hand brush through his hair. "I'm here, Kurt, I'm right here," he murmured. "I won't leave you. I love you."

He cried then, cried in earnest, burying his face in the ridges of Blaine's ribs and collarbone and bawling in big, ugly gasps that broke out of his throat and contorted his reddened face and made his eyes swell. He sobbed as if his heart would break, and Blaine held him tightly, never relaxing his grip, never pausing in his steady stream of soft, reassuring words.

Kurt sagged in Blaine's arms, his sobs gradually beginning to quiet. "You're okay," Blaine soothed. He moved his hand to the back of Kurt's neck, gently rubbing his thumb in small warm circles. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Kurt felt Blaine shift beneath him, leaning back against the pillows. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice small and faint.

Blaine drew him closer, until his head was resting on his shoulder. "I'm sure," he said. He kept his arm around Kurt, cradling him against his warmth. Kurt let out a stray sob, and Blaine's arms tightened momentarily. "Sh, it's okay."

Kurt huddled close to him, craving the warm sturdy nearness of Blaine's body against his. The physical contact made a little of the ache in his heart fade, and he took a deep steady breath. He felt exhausted, and sleep was already beginning to crowd on the edges of his vision. "Thank you," he rasped.

He felt Blaine's chest rise and fall lightly against his cheek in a faint laugh. "You don't need to thank me," he said. Kurt's heart skipped a beat as he felt the impossibly light brush of Blaine's lips against the top of his head. "I love you."

Kurt cuddled close to Blaine, his cheek pressed to his shoulder, relishing his warmth and his gentleness and the spicy-sweet way he smelled. For the first time in months, he felt safe.

"I love you too," he tried to whisper, but he fell into deep, peaceful sleep before he could say anything, and Blaine didn't hear him.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I thought this chapter would be easier to write. But it wasn't. At least, not at first.

I wrote the first part, the conversation with Burt, on my iPod while I was at work. I launched into the Blaine and Kurt conversation when I got home, and I was like..."oh. Whoa. Wow. I am talking in circles." There was literally part of it that I rewrote four or five times because I just wasn't happy with it. I even had to go eat some chocolate to see if I could get myself into a happier mood.

But then I went back to it, and got into the "I love you" part, and everything fell into place.

So Blaine has told Kurt he loves him. And Kurt feels the same way, although Blaine doesn't exactly know that (and Kurt was very highstrung and still slightly medicated at the time). Only three more chapters, and the first act will be done!


	12. The Kind of Song I Know

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

Blaine tried to adjust into a slightly more comfortable position. His lower back prickled unpleasantly and one arm was completely numb and he had no idea that Kurt could possibly get that heavy when he fell asleep, but it really didn't matter. Not right now.

Kurt slept deeply with his cheek still pressed against his shoulder and his hot forehead touching his neck. His mouth gaped a little as he breathed heavily. Blaine shifted him a little, propping him up on his lap. He kept his hand on the back of Kurt's slender neck, rubbing slow, easy, rhythmic circles.

Kurt frowned and moved in his sleep. He whimpered a little, a soft, painfully sad sound that went straight through Blaine's heart. "It's okay," he murmured for the millionth time that night, pulling Kurt closer to his chest.

He hadn't gotten any sleep that night, but it didn't matter. Kurt had slept deeply through the most of the night, but every so often he would toss and turn in Blaine's arms, making those awful little noises. Every time that happened Blaine would tug him a little closer, shushing him softly and rubbing his back until he calmed back down.

Sometimes he would catch himself calling Kurt little endearments. It was the sort of thing that he never pictured himself saying; he always thought that it was silly and kind of shallow. But it was different to cradle Kurt in his arms, knowing that he was sad and hurting and vulnerable. Somehow it just seemed right.

Especially since Kurt was asleep. He wasn't quite sure how Kurt would respond to being called "baby" or "honey." They could cross that bridge when they came to it. Or if they came to it. He still wasn't entirely sure how Kurt felt about his entirely embarrassing declaration of love.

_Did I really get down on my knees_? he thought dismally. _Ugh. So melodramatic._

Maybe Kurt liked it. How was he to know? The only thing he was sure of was that Kurt finally told him the truth, then burst into tears and cried himself to sleep in his arms. That had to mean something, right?

Blaine smoothed his fingers through Kurt's hair, careful of the dark line of stitches on the back of his head, and stifled a sigh. Now was definitely not the time to launch full-throttle into a relationship. In fact, he probably shouldn't have even told Kurt he loved him yet. The last thing Kurt needed right now was a boyfriend.

But then again, Kurt needed to be loved right now. Maybe not romantic, let's-go-kiss-for-a-while kind of love, but just…love.

Blaine brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead and dropped another light kiss on the top of his head. He didn't dare try anything else, but top-of-the-head kisses had to be okay. It was a fairly platonic type of kiss, wasn't it?

He touched his lips again to his soft hair. Kurt shifted, and at first he thought he was caught in the beginnings of a nightmare again, but then Blaine realized that he was on the verge of waking up. He sat up, keeping his arms tight around Kurt as he started to rouse.

Kurt blinked slowly, his eyes glowing pale and blue in the cool half light. "Dad?" he rasped.

Blaine smiled. "Hey, there," he said softly, bending over him. "It's me. How are you feeling?"

Kurt turned a little, trying to push himself into a sitting position. "Blaine?" he slurred sleepily.

Blaine made him lean back against the pillows. "Uh-huh, it's just me," he soothed. He put his hand on Kurt's forehead. "You're still too hot."

"'m okay," Kurt said, taking a deep breath. Blaine kept his arm around his shoulder. "Just a little dizzy."

"Well, don't move too fast, okay?" Blaine smiled, stroking his thumb gently against Kurt's arm. "Take your time."

Kurt stared down at Blaine's hand on his shoulder and blinked. He fell silent, his eyes glazed and faraway. "Hey, Blaine?" he ventured.

"What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice soft.

"Can…can you call my dad?" Kurt whispered, hugging his arms around his stomach. "I need to talk to him…before I lose my nerve."

"Sure," Blaine said, squeezing his arm. "Do you want to talk to him, or do you want me to do it?"

"Can you do it, please?" Kurt said. "I don't…I don't think I can do it."

"I'd be happy to do it," Blaine smiled. He slid off the bed, rearranging the blankets around Kurt. "You lie still, okay?"

Kurt watched him dully as he crossed to his discarded jacket and dug his phone out of the pocket. Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed and hit the speed dial. "I'm going to call my house," he explained. "My mom can tell me if your parents are up already."

Kurt nodded, his expression blank. Blaine tapped his fingers against his knee and waited for someone to answer. His father picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" he said.

"Hey, Dad, it's me," he said.

"Blaine?" He sounded concerned. He hoped that Burt hadn't told him about what happened the day before. The last thing he needed was for his parents to get on his case. "Are you doing all right, son? How's Kurt?"

"Fine, we're both fine," he reassured him. "Is Kurt's father up yet?"

"He's here, do you want to talk to him?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, that would be great," he said.

He heard the muffled sound of his father placing his hand over the receiver and saying something to someone else. His heart skipped a beat. _How am I going to explain this to Burt? _he thought.

He glanced over at Kurt. His eyes were immense; he looked like he was terrified out of his mind. Blaine offered him a warm smile. Kurt didn't respond.

"Blaine, what's wrong?"

He turned his attention back to the phone. "Morning, Mr. Hummel," he said. "Don't worry, everything's fine. Kurt's awake, and he really wants to see you."

"Is he okay?" Burt demanded. "Did he sleep all right?"

"He got plenty of sleep," Blaine said. "He just really wants you to come see him, he…he has something he wants to talk about with you." The line fell silent for a moment.

"You know what this is about?" Burt asked.

"Yes," Blaine said. "I do." "Tell him I'll be there in thirty minutes," Burt said. "We'll talk as soon as we get there. And you're sure he's doing okay?"

Blaine glanced up. Kurt stared at him, his eyes wide and immense. "He's doing as well as could be expected," he said.

He heard Burt sigh, the sound crackling in the receiver. "He's not okay, is he?" he said. "Just…just tell him I'll be there soon."

"I will," Blaine promised.

He heard the rustle of the phone shifted. "Blaine? What's going on, honey?" his mother asked.

"It's fine, Mom," he said. "Kurt just needs to talk to his parents."

"Are you doing all right?" she pressed. "Kurt's father told me you were upset about something. Do you want to talk about it?"

He turned away from Kurt, wrapping his free arm around his stomach. "Not right now," he said softly. "It's not a good time."

"Sweetheart, if you're in any kind of trouble, you have to talk to someone," she said.

"I'll talk to someone later," he said. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"All right," she said reluctantly. "The Hummels just left for the hospital, and your dad and I are leaving for work soon, but we'll have our cells on, okay? If you need us, just call."

"Thanks, Mom," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too, honey," she said.

He hit end and slid his cell phone back in his coat pocket. "Your parents have already left for the hospital," he told Kurt. "They'll be here soon."

"Thank you," Kurt whispered.

Blaine touched his hand lightly against his forehead. "You're still burning up," he said.

Kurt closed his eyes. "They won't let me go home until my fever's down," he said. "I don't think I'll ever leave."

"You're going to be fine," Blaine said.

Kurt turned to look at him. "How will I ever be okay again?" he asked. "How…how are things supposed to go back to normal?"

Blaine dropped his hands to his lap. "Well, I think…" he started helplessly. He paused and sighed. "To be honest, Kurt, I don't know if things ever will be normal. You'll just have to come up with…with a new normal."

Kurt let out a soft, bitter laugh. "It seems like I'm always starting over," he said. "I start a new life without a mom…a new life being openly gay…a new life at Dalton…and now, a new life as…as whatever this is."

He gestured helplessly, his shoulders dropping in defeat. Blaine leaned over and put his hand on Kurt's knee. "I know it's hard, but you'll get through it," he said. "You're so strong, Kurt."

"I think my strength is all used up," Kurt whispered.

Blaine reached out tentatively and stroked Kurt's hair away from his hot forehead. It was so different, almost scary to do this while he was awake. Kurt regarded him quietly, his eyes pale and blue and implacable. "Then let someone else help you," he said softly. "That's why your dad is coming here. He can help you. And you've got Carole, and Finn, and the girls. You've got a whole support system, just waiting for you to accept them."

Kurt bit his lip. "What about…about you?" he asked, almost shyly.

Blaine smiled. "I'll be here if you want me," he said.

"I…I do," Kurt confessed. He took a deep breath, as if he was steeling himself for rejection. "I…Blaine, I need you."

Blaine scooted closer and pulled him into a gentle hug. Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his face into his shoulder. "Then you have me," Blaine said, pressing his cheek against Kurt's temple. "You definitely have me."

Kurt said nothing. He just sank in Blaine's arms, his face against his neck, his breathing a little too quick. Blaine didn't dare move. He just held him.

After a while Kurt shifted, pulling a little away from him. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"You don't have to thank me," Blaine said. "Do you want me to get you anything before your dad gets here?"

"Anything but a mirror," Kurt joked weakly, and Blaine nearly sagged in relief.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to see your vanity return," he quipped back, squeezing Kurt's knee. "Seriously, do you need anything?"

"I think I'm okay," Kurt said, the faint smile still on his lips. "I just…I just need to get this over with."

"I understand," Blaine said. "Do you want me in here when you talk to your parents?"

Kurt looked down at the blankets. "If you don't mind," he said. "I think I just need some…moral support."

Blaine tipped Kurt's chin up. "I told you, you have me," he smiled. "I'll do whatever you need me to do." Kurt almost smiled at him.

The door swung open and Blaine scooted away. The hint of a smile faded from Kurt's face. "Dad," he whispered.

Burt strode over to Kurt's bed. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?" he asked. He clasped Kurt's good shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"It's…nothing's wrong," Kurt stammered.

Carole put her hand on Kurt's forehead. "Has the nurse given you anything for your fever yet?" she asked.

"No, no, not yet, I just…" He took a deep breath. "Can you sit down, please? Both of you?"

Carole sat down on the chair beside his bed. Burt stood behind her, his arms folded. "Go on and tell us whatever you need to say, kiddo," he said.

Kurt stared at his father and stepmother. Blaine could see his confidence falling away. He stepped a little closer to Kurt. "Go ahead, sweetheart," Carole encouraged.

Kurt twisted his fingers together. "I…I need to tell you what happened," he said in a small voice.

Blaine could see both of Kurt's parents start. Kurt didn't look up. "You remember it?" Burt said.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. He dug his fingernails into his palms. "I…I couldn't say anything before because…because I was scared, and I thought he was…he was going to kill me, but…"

His breathing was too rapid. Blaine reached over and put his hand over Kurt's. Suddenly Kurt grabbed on tightly. "Dad, it was Karofsky," he blurted out. "He was the one who did this."

Burt straightened. "The jackass who was bullying you?" he demanded. "He drove all the way out Dalton just to mess you up?"

"I don't know why he did it, Dad, he just did," Kurt said desperately. He held tightly to Blaine's hand until his knuckles whitened.

Burt held onto the railing at the foot of Kurt's bed. "But all the…the sexual stuff," he said. "This Karofsky kid…he's gay?"

Blaine didn't think it was possible for Kurt's death grip on his hand to get any tighter, but it did. Kurt tried to speak, but nothing came out. "Go on," he coaxed softly. "It's okay."

Kurt kept his eyes on his blankets, not looking up at his parents. "A few months ago, he…I was still at McKinley, and I…" He swallowed hard, and kept going, his voice soft and measured. "He pushed me into the lockers. I got angry. I followed him into the locker room. We argued. And then…he kissed me."

"He did _what_?" Burt said.

"He kissed me," Kurt said miserably. "That's why he wanted to kill me. He said…he said that if I told anyone, he would kill me."

Burt leaned back, arms folded. Carole stayed quiet. Blaine rubbed his thumb over the back of Kurt's cold hand. "He kissed you?" Burt said, his voice faltering a little. "And that was…that was your first kiss, right?"

Kurt nodded. The color had drained completely from his face; he looked like he had stopped breathing. Burt walked over to him. "He was harassing you for months over it?" he said, his voice still low and tight. "That's why he tried to kill you?"

Kurt nodded again. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Burt kept his arms folded and his eyes on the wall behind Kurt's head. He said nothing for a few minutes, his expression unreadable.

"Dad," Kurt rasped. "Dad, please say something."

Burt's expression didn't change. He kept staring at the wall. Blaine felt Kurt's hand tremble in his grip. Burt shifted his weight.

"When you were born," he finally said, still not making eye contact, "you were early. A whole month early. You were so small, and fragile, and you couldn't even cry, you just made these…these sad little whimpers. The first time I held you, I thought you were going to break in my hands. I had never held something so little before, and, I swear to God, I didn't have a clue how I could possibly be a good father to you. But I swore, while your mom was sleeping and you were staring up at me with those big eyes, that I would do everything I could to keep you safe."

Blaine felt Kurt's hand relax a little in his grip. Kurt leaned forward, his eyes locked on his father's face. Burt cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you like you deserve," he said hoarsely. "I'm going to make this right, you understand me?"

Kurt nodded wordlessly. Burt rubbed his thumbs over Kurt's pale cheeks, studying his face. "God, how am I going to explain this to your mom?" he breathed.

Kurt's face crumpled. In a flash he pulled his hand away from Blaine's and threw his arms around his father's neck. Burt hugged him tightly. Kurt let out a sob, the sound muffled by his father's shoulder, and Burt clutched him to his chest.

Blaine looked down at the floor, his throat tightening. He felt a light hand on his shoulder and glanced up to see Carole standing beside him. She beckoned silently; he got up and followed her into the hall.

Carole closed the door behind them. "I think we ought to give them a little time," she said softly. She took a deep breath. "When exactly did it happen? The kiss, I mean."

Blaine scratched the back of his neck. "Late September, I think," he said. "It was shortly after we met."

Carole pressed her lips together. "I don't even know what to say," she said. "We all knew he was upset about something. Even Finn. It's just…just so damn hard to get through to him. Nothing we said or did made any difference to him."

She covered her eyes with her hand. Blaine slid his hands in his pockets. "He told me yesterday when we were arguing that after his mother died, he just stopped going to his father with his problems," he offered. "He didn't think he needed anything else to worry about."

Carole tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her lips still twisting like she was trying to smile but close to crying. "I wish I could say I was surprised," she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Kurt's mother was sick for months before she finally passed away, and it broke Burt's heart. They were high school sweethearts." She sighed. "It doesn't surprise me that Kurt is so closed-off, but still…it's so painful to see him struggling, but unable to let anyone help him."

"I know the feeling," Blaine said ruefully.

She studied him. "Is that why you two were arguing yesterday?" she said. "You were trying to get through to him?"

Blaine nodded. "It didn't go so well," he said.

"But he's talking now," Carole countered. She smiled at him, for real this time. "Thank you."

"It's, uh, no problem," Blaine said, unable to find the right words.

Carole squeezed his arm in a kind, motherly gesture. "I'm sure you're hungry," she said. "Or at least in need of some coffee. Come on. I'll get you breakfast while they talk."

He followed her to the hospital cafeteria, where he ate a slightly stale bagel and they both drank coffee while they chatted about blessedly neutral topics like music and academics and the recent wedding. It was the first time he had spent much time with Kurt's stepmother, and he realized that even though Carole hadn't been in Kurt's life for very long, she genuinely cared for her stepson. He should have guessed that, judging by the way she had been sticking to his side since she arrived at the hospital on Friday night, but still. It was nice to see her eyes softening when he mentioned Kurt, or hear the warmth in her voice when she talked about him.

It wasn't until they were walking back to Kurt's room, cups of half-drunk coffee in their hands, that Blaine realized it. _Friday. He's been here for almost four days, _he thought. _It took four days to get through to him. God, that kid is stubborn._

Carole knocked lightly on the door. He heard a muffled voice answer; Carole opened the door and Blaine followed her cautiously.

His knees nearly buckled in relief. Kurt was sitting up, and he was smiling. Actually smiling. His dad sat on the bed next to him, his big, rough hand clasping Kurt's. "We were wondering where you two went," Burt grinned.

Carole crossed to them and first kissed Burt, then leaned over and kissed Kurt on the cheek. "You look better, honey," she said.

"I think I feel a little better," he said. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he had a little more color in his face.

Blaine sat down and rested his cheek in his hand as he watched Kurt talk to his parents. Kurt answered their questions, sometimes with his lips turning up slightly in the hint of a smile, but at one point, when Burt was saying something, Blaine caught him looking in his direction, his brilliant eyes bright, almost questioning.

Blaine smiled and offered him a wink. Kurt blushed and looked away quickly, and Blaine resisted the urge to laugh.

It was so strange. Yesterday he felt like his life was over. This morning he thought he would never see Kurt smile again. Now it felt like…like things were almost normal. The awful weight in his chest was lifting. He closed his eyes, still smiling.

"Blaine?" He started, his chin dropping away from his hand. "Huh?" he mumbled, his voice thick.

Carole squeezed his shoulder. "I think you dozed off a little," she said.

Blaine sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Huh," he said. "Guess I did."

"Why don't you go home and get some rest?" she suggested. "The detective is on her way back here to talk to Kurt, and that will probably take a while."

"Are you sure?" Blaine said. He glanced over at Kurt, who was still deep in conversation with his father. His blue-green eyes were earnest, and at one point Burt reached up to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

Carole followed Blaine's gaze and smiled. "Kurt will be fine without you for a little bit," she said with a slight smile.

He ducked his head. "Oh, I'm…I'm sure he will," he said.

It had been a while since he had felt this mortified. Carole just patted his shoulder. "Go home and take a nap," she said. "I'm sure Burt and I can take care of Kurt without you."

He stood up, stretching his lower back. Parts of his spine still ached from hunching over a sleeping Kurt all night. "You'll call if he asks for me?" he whispered.

"The second he does," Carole whispered back.

Blaine picked up his coat and shrugged it on. Kurt straightened. "Blaine, are you leaving?" he asked.

"He's going to go home and rest for a little while, sweetheart," Carole said. "He'll be back."

Blaine glanced at Kurt, and quickly regretted it. Kurt stared up at him, eyes large and wide and blue. "I'll just be gone for a little while," he said.

"But the detective's coming back," Kurt objected.

Blaine walked over to him. Burt shifted, still staying close to Kurt but leaving enough room for the two of them to talk. Blaine leaned over him, keeping his mouth close to Kurt's ear. "Give your parents some time with you," he whispered. "Let them support you. All right?"

Kurt nodded. Blaine put his hand on the mattress to brace himself, his slightly stubbled cheek brushing against Kurt's. "If you call for me, I'll come," he said. "Remember that."

Kurt nodded again. Blaine nearly whispered another "I love you," but at the last second, he decided against it, second-guessing himself. He settled for brushing his lips lightly, almost imperceptibly to the soft skin below Kurt's ear, out of Burt's sight line. He felt Kurt shiver at the light touch.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Blaine said.

"Okay," Kurt said in a small voice.

Burt covered one of Kurt's hands in both of his. "Don't get nervous, kiddo," he said. "You just tell that detective exactly what you told us. You're gonna be fine." He leaned back. "Thanks for staying with him, Blaine."

Blaine paused in the doorway and flashed one last smile at Kurt. "It's my pleasure," he said. He was rewarded by Kurt offering one last, tentative smile before he walked out of the room.

Light snow fell on him as he walked through the parking lot to his car. He hummed lightly under his breath as he got into his red jeep and turned the key in the ignition. The radio and the heat turned on simultaneously, both of them blasting in his face. He turned down the music but he kept the heat up.

He drove the half-hour back home, singing absentmindedly along with the radio and checking his phone at every stoplight. There weren't any calls from Kurt or from his parents, and that reassured him a little.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Kurt's parents with him. They were his parents, after all. It was just that…well, after last night, he just didn't want to leave Kurt. He wanted to stay with him, to see for himself that he was all right, to be there just in case he needed to be held.

He took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on his steering wheel. _Things are going to be fine, _he told himself sternly. _You don't need to spend every waking minute with him. There's no need to get so worked up._

It would be fine. He would just go home, sleep for a little bit, take a shower, and then get right back to the hospital. He could stand a few hours without Kurt, couldn't he? Surely he wasn't that pathetic already.

He parked in the driveway and let himself into his house. It was cold and quiet since both of his parents were at work; he flipped on the thermostat and headed upstairs. His computer was still on and he groaned out loud. The old desktop was persnickety enough as it was, and it certainly didn't need to be left on for days at a time. He shook the mouse to get out of the screensaver, only to find a series of chat windows open.

**babyinthecorner: **hey blaine how are things?

**babyinthecorner: **blaine are you just sitting around at home?

**babyinthecorner: **how's your lover boy? getting better?

**babyinthecorner: **blaine what's wrong?

**babyinthecorner: **BLAAAAAAINE ANSWER ME

**babyinthecorner: **IF YOU DON'T ANSWER I SHALL CALL MOTHER

Blaine rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was his sister getting on his case, but he knew that if he didn't answer, she would most definitely tell his mother, and he didn't need both Anderson women at his throat. The last message was from about an hour ago, and the icon indicated she was still online.

**blenderman92: **keep your pants on Francey. I'm fine.

**babyinthecorner: **what took you so long?

**blenderman92: **stayed the night at the hospital

**babyinthecorner: **sleepovers w/ kurt already? mmmmmmhmmmm…

**blenderman92: **it's not like that. there was very little sleeping.

**blenderman92: **NOT LIKE THAT

**babyinthecorner: **really?

**blenderman92: **he slept. i held him.

She was silent for a moment.

**babyinthecorner: **nightmares?

**blenderman92: **yes

He leaned back in his chair. As glib as his sister liked to be, he knew that she was thinking of all the times that he snuck into her room in the middle of the night, exhausted and shaken but unable to sleep. She knew better than most people what it was like to recover.

**babyinthecorner: **you stayed the whole night?

**blenderman92: **yes

**babyinthecorner: **wow. dedication.

**blenderman92: **he's worth it

He regretted that slip as soon as it escaped, but nevertheless, he hit enter and there it was. "Oh, god," he mumbled aloud in the silence of his bedroom. "Francey's going to have a field day."

**babyinthecorner: **you love him?

**babyinthecorner: **not just a crush

**babyinthecorner: **actual love

"I wish I could get away with lying to her," he said.

**blenderman92: **yes

**babyinthecorner is offline**

He frowned. Then he realized his phone was ringing. He picked it up and tucked it warily between his ear and his shoulder. "Hello?" he said.

"Blaine, are you shitting me?" Francey demanded.

He sighed. "No," he said.

"You've only known this boy for a few months," Francey said. "And he's in the hospital. And not only have you already told him you loved him, but you've chosen the worst possible time to do it."

Blaine leaned back, drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair while he shut his computer down. "It was the only way I could get him to listen to me," he said. "You don't understand, Francey. He's put up these walls, it's so hard to get him to understand you."

"Never mind about him," Francey said sharply. "What about you?"

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You sound like Mom," he said.

"Hell yes, I sound like Mom, she's right about this," she retorted. "Blaine, you've had three boyfriends, and you never told any of them that you loved them. And now you've got this kid that…are you even dating him?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No," he admitted.

"But you told him you love him."

"Yeah."

"Did he say it back?"

"No, he, uh…he kind of fell asleep after I told him that," he said.

"See, this is why you can't waste your passionate declarations of love on the hospitalized, their meds kick in at really inappropriate times," Francey said. She sighed heavily, the sound crackling over the receiver. Blaine fiddled with one of the guitar picks scattered across his desk. "Listen, I know it's not my place, but I need you to be careful, okay?"

"Careful with what?" he asked.

"At the risk of sounding like one of the delicious corny '80s flicks we were unfortunately named after, I want you to be careful with your heart," Francey said. "Don't let him break your heart. And don't you dare break his. Not after what he's been through."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said.

"I know," Francey said. "So why are you at home, instead of waiting patiently at your lover's bedside?"

"His mom sent me home to rest," Blaine confessed. "I'm going to take a nap and a shower and then head back."

"You haven't showered yet? Ew, grody. Have you let him see you with your crazy morning bedhead?"

He rubbed a hand over his only-mildly tamed curls. "Sort of," he said.

"Mm, fabulous," Francey said. He could her the teasing smile in her voice. "Well, go take your nap, little boy."

"Gee, thanks, Frances," he said.

"Oh, you know you'll always be a little kid to me," she said. "Call me if you need me, okay? Especially when you flip your shit."

"Oh, yeah. About that," he mumbled. "That…might have already happened."

"Are you fu-"

"I don't feel like talking about it right now, Francey, I'll call you later, I love you, bye," he said quickly. He hung up the phone quickly, before she could cut in, and set it on silent.

Blaine dropped his jacket over his desk chair and kicked off his shoes. He crawled into bed, still dressed in his rumpled jeans and equally rumpled shirt and buried his face in his pillow as he pulled his blankets over his head. It took only a few deep breaths before he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * *

He spent the day lost in a haze. Sounds blurred in his ears, faces hazed in his vision. He didn't remember the drive to school, or meeting his friends in the parking lot. All he knew was that this wasn't going to last much longer. This…this normalcy. This life that he took for granted. It was going to be gone, all gone. Gone in one terrible mistake.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to wait for them to find him, or if he should turn himself in. He battled back and forth, back and forth, wavering.

If he turned himself in, this would all be over. No more panic, no more looking behind his shoulder at every turn. But his life would fall apart. No more scholarship, no more college, nor more future.

If he kept his mouth shut, there was always the chance that they might be found out, but who knows when that would happen. Or if, even. Maybe he could escape. Maybe he would never be found. And if that meant he had to live with the fear, and the guilt, then so be it. At least he would be free physically.

But as the day wore on, he realized that he couldn't do that. The guilt overwhelmed him. All he could see was the parking lot, the car, the look in Kurt Hummel's eyes. And he knew he couldn't do it.

It was right before lunch period when it happened. He had already made up his mind to go to the police station after school, to turn himself in, to give up this whole awful situation.

But he was standing by his locker, stowing his algebra book away, when the woman approached him. She was dressed simply and soberly, too silent and too grim to be a teacher. She strode up to him purposely, searching him out specifically. He clutched his locker door.

"Are you David Karofsky?" she inquired in an even, measured voice.

He dug his fingers into the slick, icy metal door of his locker. He stared into the depths, but he didn't see his textbooks and folders and an old hockey puck. He didn't see anything at all.

"This is about Kurt, isn't it?" he rasped, still focusing on the contents of the locker.

She held her police badge in her hand, but she paused, waiting for him to go on. He gripped the locker door, suddenly away of the sounds of the bell ringing and students filling the hall with loud chatter and clattering footsteps and clashing laughs.

"I did it."

She took a step closer. "Do you understand what you're saying?" she said.

"I did it," he repeated. He turned to look at her, clutching the locker door to keep himself upright, knowing full that his eyes were smarting and that there was nothing he could do to erase the torture from his eyes. "I've got my tee shirt. With his blood on it. It's at home in my closet."

She withdrew a pair of gleaming silver handcuffs from the depths of her coat. Without thinking he dropped his hand from the door; she guided his wrists behind his back. He didn't fight her.

The cuffs circled his wrists, cold and unyielding, clacking together in a firm, deadly snap. The woman placed her hand on his shoulder and guided him down the hall. He stared straight ahead, passing by students that were only now beginning to notice that something was wrong.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt like he was going to pass out. But he kept moving, placing one foot in front of the other. The other students stepped to let him pass them by, a dead man walking in their midst.

He no longer heard the noise. There were no high-pitched voices, no rattle of lockers, no footsteps or clatter or laughs. Just the woman's voice, slow and calm and frightening in its finality.

"David Karofsky, you are under arrest for the sexual assault of Kurt Hummel. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law…"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I swear, I had to write this thing one sentence at a time. Write a sentence, then go do something else for a while. It just wasn't flowing like it should be. But nevertheless, it is complete.

Technically, under Ohio law, what Karofsky did is classified as "gross sexual imposition," but is under the broad umbrella term of sexual assault. And also, Kat and I are doing are best to do our research and plot this out as authentically as possible, but were following the mantra of "if all else fails, go with Law and Order." So, please, be kind to us. We are theater/English/communications people, not law people. We will do our best, but make no promises.

So Francey did something a little more exciting! She'll arrive in person (and meet Kurt) in the next few chapters, And she will also explain the story behind their tragically '80s names.

Ugh. So glad to have Karofsky locked up, but still. I feel a little sorry for the kid.

But in any case, things are getting better for Kurt. Thank goodness. I didn't think I could take much more of that.


	13. Mother, Sister, Lover

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

Kurt rubbed his eyes blearily. The TV was still playing, although he wasn't paying attention to it anymore. His father had turned it on after the detective left, trying to distract both of them, but he had gotten a phone call about an emergency back at the garage an hour ago and left to handle things, leaving him alone with a football game that did nothing to hold his interest. Maybe he could take another nap…but he didn't want to be asleep when Blaine got back. If he ever came back.

Then again, he didn't really want anyone to see him. After four days of lying in a hospital bed with minimal teeth-brushing, hair-combing, and general hygiene, he wasn't really in the mood for visitors in general. Especially not visitors who had recently declared their love for him.

Kurt flopped back on the pillows with a heavy sigh. _What am I supposed to do? _he thought. _When do I say when I see him? Do I say 'I love you' back? Did I already say it? I can't remember? Maybe I dreamt it…_

The door creaked open and his usual nurse peeked inside. "Oh, good, you're awake," Penny smiled.

"Uh-huh," he said, dragging himself up into a sitting position. "Time for more poking and prodding?"

"You know it," she said. She crossed to his bed and slipped a thermometer between his lips. "Hold that steady, all right?"

He folded his hands and sat obediently still as she checked his IV drip. After a minute or two the thermometer beeped and Penny drew it from his mouth. "You're at 101.5," she reported.

"Is that good?" he inquired.

"Seeing as how you've been hovering around 103 for the past few days, I would say that's very good," she said. "At this rate, you'll be out of here and back home in no time."

"I hope so," he sighed.

The door creaked open again and Carole walked inside. "Hi, sweetheart," she said. "How would you like some visitors?"

He frowned, running his fingers through his hair. "Can I clean up a little bit first?" he said.

"They already thought of that," she said. He realized she was carrying his old red duffle, the one he had used during his Cheerio days, and she set on his bed within easy reach. "Go on, take a peek."

He unzipped the bag and rummaged inside. "Oh, real pajamas," he said, pulling out a neatly folded stack of clothes. "How I've missed you."

"Keep looking," Carole said.

He searched through the bag and found his black-and-white striped kit, stuffed with his favorite hair products and various toiletries. "Oh my god," he said. "Can I take a shower now? Please?"

"If you think you're up for it," Penny said. She took his hand and checked the bandage wrapped around his palm. "You'll have to be very careful. And you'll probably need help."

His mouth dropped open a little in spite of himself, and she laughed gently. "Don't be so horrified," she said. "I'm a nurse, honey. I do things like this all the time."

"Yes, but I don't," he said.

Penny checked the IV hooked into his other hand. "Take your pick," she said. "Either you let me help you, or you can just sit here and feel gross."

Kurt sighed heavily. "Fine," he said. "At this point, I would do unholy things for a real shower."

Carole laughed. "You sound like you're getting back to your old self," she said as she picked up his clothes and shower supplies and carried them to the bathroom.

He offered a slight smile back. "I feel a little more like myself," he said.

Penny carefully disengaged the IV. "All right, honey, if you move over to me, I'll help you up," she said.

Kurt scooted towards the edge of the bed and gingerly swung his legs over, wincing when his bare toes touched the cold floor. Penny wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him up. His knees wobbled. "Oh," he said. "My legs feel like jello."

"Just take it slow," Carole said.

He had never really thought about the mechanics of walking before. But with his legs shaking and his knees aching at every step, he suddenly realized how wonderful movement was. It took all of his strength just to drag himself the short walk to the bathroom.

Penny helped him sit on the closed toilet seat, then reached over and turned on the water in the tiny shower. "Go ahead and get changed," she said. "Call me when you need me."

"Are you sure I'll have to call for you?" he said.

Penny's eyes narrowed. "You definitely can't wash your hair on your own, not with your shoulder the way it is," she said. "I'll leave the door cracked, all right?"

"Fine," he sighed. Penny left the bathroom, and he pushed himself slowly to his feet. He straightened carefully and stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection.

He looked terrible. He really did.

Kurt leaned on the sink and gaped at his bruised eye. He could count at least half a dozen shades of color across his skin, and his entire face throbbed when he tried to probe the bruise. His neck was splotched with dark bruises as well, stark against the unearthly whiteness of his face, and his cheeks looked hollow, almost sunken.

He reached up with his good hand and plucked at the buttons on his shoulders. The hospital gown fell to the floor, and he gasped in spite of himself.

He knew he had been losing weight before, between the reign of terror at McKinley and the stress of Dalton, but now his ribs jutted through his skin. Except, of course, his swollen side, where the broken ribs left odd lumps through the tape wrapped around the side of his torso.

Worst of all, though, were the tiny red and purple marks that twined across his neck, shoulders, and chest. He ran his fingertips lightly along the small bruises, leaving a trail of goosebumps, but halted when he remembered where they came from.

He turned away from the mirror, bracing himself on the sink, and shrugged out of his hospital-issued boxers before stepping carefully into the shower. Thankfully there was a seat inside, and he sank down carefully, bowing his head against the steady stream of hot water.

He sat still for a little while, just enjoying the soothing warmth wrapping over his sore body, but he couldn't put it off forever. "I'm ready," he said reluctantly.

He heard Penny step into the bathroom. "Just hand me the shampoo bottle," she said. He obeyed, his bad shoulder aching even at that slight movement. The cap snapped as Penny opened it, and he closed his eyes as she started rubbing shampoo through his wet hair.

He always felt better after taking showers. It had become somewhat of a ritual to come home from school and pop into the shower, washing away the last vestiges of garishly colored slushie or the unpleasant smell of dumpster. And sometimes, on his darkest days, he could remember when he was very small and his mother would supervise his bath time, sitting cross-legged on the counter while she sang to him or listened attentively to the elaborate stories he created about his rubber ducks and toy boats.

Penny rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, cupping her hand over his eyes as she tilted his head towards the spray of water. "Thanks," he said. "I think I've got it from here."

Penny stepped back and drew the curtain closed. "All right," she said. "I'll still leave the door cracked, all right?"

"I suppose," he said. He waited for her to leave before he picked up his bottle of apricot facial scrub. It was a little clumsy trying to do everything with one hand covered in a damp bandage, but he managed well enough.

He stayed in the shower for as long as he could, but after a while the water started to run cold. Reluctantly he switched off the spray and pulled himself upright. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, but then he drew the curtain back and stepped out of the shower. A sudden blast of cool air hit his warm damp skin.

He grabbed at the towel bar, the room suddenly spinning around him. His head swam, and he could feel the edges of his vision going fuzzy. "Oh my god," he mumbled, trying to keep himself upright. "I…_uh_."

Kurt suddenly swung forward, unable to stop himself.

When he became aware of his surroundings again, he realized dully that he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his forehead resting against his knees. Someone was rubbing his bare back. "You're okay," a voice soothed. "Take a deep breath. You're okay."

He raised his head slowly, blinking away the black spots dancing in his vision. "What happened?" he mumbled, his voice thick.

"You started to black out," Penny said. "Don't move too quickly. We don't want you to pass out for real. Now take a deep breath for me."

He did his best to obey, his shoulders shuddering a little. Penny kept her hand on his back, preventing him from sitting up for several minutes. "I think I can stand up," he said.

"Go slowly," Penny warned. He leaned heavily on her arms as she helped him up. "Do you need help getting dressed?"

"I think I've got it under control," he said, transferring his support from Penny's arms to the sink. "It was just the temperature change, I think."

"I'll be right outside the door if you need me," Penny said. She slipped out of the bathroom and he reached cautiously for his pile of neatly folded clothes on the small counter. It took some doing to pull on his clean pajamas, especially when he realized he was shaking, but at last he tugged down the hem of his tee shirt and stumbled out of the bathroom.

Carole was waiting for him with her arms folded. "Sweetheart, are you all right?" she asked, immediately reaching for him. "Did you fall?"

"I'm fine," he said, allowing her to tuck her arm around his waist and help him back into bed. "Just a little dizzy."

She fluffed his pillows before he could lean back. "Don't push yourself too hard," she chided gently, tucking the blankets snugly around him. She propped him up and handed him his comb. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I think I'm all right," he said, making a face as he dragged the comb through his slightly snarled hair.

She smiled and squeezed his knee. "Are you ready for your visitors?" she asked.

"I suppose," he said. She got up and walked towards the door. "But who's here?"

Carole opened the door and beckoned to someone in the hall. "He's ready for you," she said.

Mercedes walked in with a bright smile. "Hey, baby," she said.

Finn followed at her heels, nearly tripping over her in his haste. "Hi, dude, you feeling better?" he asked eagerly.

Kurt sat up. "It's only one-thirty in the afternoon," he said. "What are you guys doing here?"

"That's all you have to say?" Mercedes laughed. She sat down on his bed and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Ow, ribs, ow, Mercedes," he complained.

She pulled back and scrutinized him carefully. "You look better than yesterday," she declared.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asked.

Finn stuck his hands in his back pockets. "We came to see you," he said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You're skipping school?" he said.

Finn shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think anyone's going to notice," Mercedes said.

"Why?" he asked, tugging the comb carefully through his wet hair.

Finn and Mercedes exchanged a look. "We saw Karofsky get arrested today," Finn finally confessed. "That detective lady cuffed him in the hallway and everything."

The comb dropped from his fingers. "Do…do you know about it?" he said. "Does everyone know?"

"Nobody said anything," Finn said quickly. "We just…we guessed it had to do with you." He edged a little closer. "Was it him?" Kurt nodded. "Does everyone know?" he whispered.

"No, honey," Mercedes reassured him. "I don't think anybody outside of glee club even knows you've been hurt, much less that Karofsky…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned. "Let's talk about this later."

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

"You're not fine if you can go that pale that quickly," she warned.

"Yeah, you look kind of creepy," Finn said.

Kurt stared down at the blankets covering his legs. Mercedes cupped his chin in her hand. "We came to make you feel better, not feel worse, so we'll worry about this later," she said firmly. "Now. Did you see everything we packed in your bag?"

"I saw some of it," he said faintly.

Finn rummaged through the bright red duffle bag. "We kind of went through your stuff," he said. "I hope that's okay."

Mercedes picked up Kurt's laptop, zipped into a royal blue neoprene case. "We figured you were getting bored just sitting here staring at the wall," she said.

"Or watching football," Finn said, his eyes straying towards the still-playing television.

Mercedes smacked him playfully. "We thought it would help if you had something to do," she said. She handed him his iPod.

"It does," he said, unwinding the earbuds. "Thank you."

"And we brought you a little bit of home, too," Finn added. He dug several items out of the bag and plopped them on Kurt's lap. "Let's see…the jar full of sticks you keep on your nightstand-"

"It's a scent diffuser," Kurt corrected, breathing in the reassuring scent of rosemary and honey.

"…and those goofy sock things you always wear at night…"

"They're moisturized," Kurt said, attempting to bend over and tug them on. "And they're not goofy."

"…and your blanket."

Kurt sat up, one sock half on, as Finn tossed the blanket over his knees. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Well, it's…uh…"

"Stop trying to backpedal, honey, we all know that this is your baby blanket, so just suck it up and snuggle," Mercedes grinned.

Kurt picked it up gingerly, running the soft worn fabric through his fingers. "At least it's in better condition than Mekiki," he said.

Finn turned beet red. "You promised not to tell about that!" he said.

Mercedes picked up Kurt's discarded comb and drew it carefully through his hair. "I already knew about that," she smirked.

"But…how…Kurt…you promised!" Finn sputtered.

"It wasn't me," Kurt said.

"Quinn told me," Mercedes said. "She also told me about how you begged her to give it back."

"My dad bought it for me the day I was born!" Finn protested. "I've had it for forever!"

Kurt smiled. "My mom bought mine for me," she said. "It's how she told my dad that they were having a boy. But at least I didn't give it a cutesy nickname. Or chew on it."

If it was actually possible, Finn reddened even further. "I stopped doing that when I was six," he mumbled.

Kurt looked up at Mercedes. "Not really," he whispered.

Mercedes laughed. Finn's cheeks were practically maroon. "We'd better lay off your brother before he explodes," she said. She parted Kurt's hair and smoothed it down. "Now, we brought enough DVDs to keep you occupied for about four and a half days. Pick one."

He sorted through the movies before deciding on Back to the Future. Finn popped it into the DVD player and plunked into the chair beside him; Mercedes sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side. He sat between them and watched the movie quietly as the tension began to drain slowly from his sore shoulders.

They were halfway through the sequel, laughing at the antics of Marty McFly, when the door creaked open slowly. Kurt glanced automatically towards the sound and sat up. "Blaine," he said, his heart giving a treacherous little leap.

"Hey," Blaine said with a smile. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am, a lot," Kurt said.

Mercedes placed her hand on Kurt's knee, almost protectively. "Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be here?" she said.

Kurt frowned. "Why shouldn't he be here?" he asked.

Blaine's smile faded a little. "I was hoping I could talk to you about that," he said.

Finn picked up the remote and paused the movie. "I don't think you have a lot of explaining left," he said.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Finn glared across the room at Blaine, his brown eyes narrowed and his mouth drawn down in a sharp thin line. "What's wrong?" he said.

Blaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands buried deeply in the pockets of his gray zipup hoodie. "I was out of line, Mercedes," he said quietly. "I was angry, and I took it out on you. I said a lot of things that I shouldn't've said. And I'm sorry."

Mercedes said nothing. She still looked upset.

"Blaine?" Kurt said. "What's going on?"

Blaine sighed heavily, then walked over to him. He reached across the bed and took Kurt's bandaged right hand in his, closing his strong fingers carefully around his. "I don't think you remember what happened," he said. "But when we fought yesterday, and you…got hurt, things got a little out of control."

"Shit hit the fan," Finn said bluntly. He crossed his arms across his chest, looking so much like his stepfather that it was almost uncanny. "We figured Blaine did something to you."

"No," Kurt said quickly. "No, I mean, we argued, but…but I was just as bad as he was. It wasn't like he was attacking me or anything." He paused. "Oh, god. You thought he was attacking me."

"You don't understand, baby," Mercedes said in a low voice. "You were fine one minute, then the next you were bleeding everywhere and screaming like crazy."

Kurt blinked. "I don't remember that," he said, drawing back a little.

"Yeah, well, we do," Finn said ruefully.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand as gently as possible. "I fought with you, then I fought with them," he said. He looked up at Finn and Mercedes. "I really am sorry. Both for saying what I did, and for storming out like…like some spoiled child."

"You left?" Kurt said. "But…when I woke up…

Blaine smiled at him, his eyes bright. "I came back," he said, rubbing his thumb lightly over his knuckles.

Mercedes still didn't look appeased, but Finn seemed to be softening a little. Kurt caught him glancing from him to Blaine, and the fierceness of his expression faded, just the slightest bit. "You want to stay?" Finn asked.

"If you're all right with it," Blaine said, his fingers tightening slightly over Kurt's. Kurt squeezed back, but he didn't miss Mercedes stiffening beside him.

"Pull up a chair, dude," Finn said. One corner of his mouth tugged up a little in a fraction of a smile.

Blaine let go of Kurt's hand and grabbed a chair, positioning himself on the other side of the bed. Mercedes sat in between them, and even though Finn started the movie back up, she didn't seem to pay much attention. _She must be really upset, _Kurt thought. He scooted a little closer to her and leaned his head against her shoulder. She rested her cheek against the top of his head, her hand still on his knee, and she seemed to relax a little.

They kept watching the movie, but truth be told, Kurt wasn't paying attention anymore. Honestly, he still wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Mercedes was upset, Finn was acting like his father, and Blaine…

He glanced at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Blaine leaned back in his chair, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, smiling a little at the TV screen. He looked over at Kurt and his smile widened. Kurt smiled back, and Blaine winked at him. Actually winked.

Kurt bit his lip, knowing that his cheeks were turning pink and yet there was nothing he could do about it. Blaine laughed silently; Kurt ducked his head and looked away.

_He loves me, _he thought. _He actually loves me._

His heart thumped rapidly in his chest. If only he could have Blaine all to himself. He would give anything to hear him say it again, and to have a chance to say it back. Vaguely he remembered whispering it to him the night before, when he was on the brink of sleep, but he wasn't sure if it was his last conscious thought or his first bit of a dream.

_What if he thinks I don't love him back? _he thought, suddenly and horribly. _Maybe he'll take it back if he thinks I don't love him. Or pretend it never happened._

He needed to talk to Blaine. As soon as possible. Alone. Because when he had pictured telling Blaine he loved him, he never thought his best friend and his brother would be there too.

Kurt fidgeted a little bit while the others were distracted by the movie, trying desperately to think of a non-obtrusive way he could get Finn and Mercedes out of the room and Blaine to stay. He couldn't come up with anything, but someone must have read his mind, because Mercedes' pocket started jangling with a cheerful melody. She pulled out her phone.

"Who's texting you?" Kurt asked.

Mercedes smiled, but she didn't answer him. "Finn, we're needed in the waiting room," she said.

Finn frowned. "What do you…oh," he said. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "We'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said. Mercedes slid off the bed and walked out with Finn. The door swung shut behind them.

Blaine leaned back and smiled at him. "They're really not happy with me," he said.

"I still don't think I understand why," Kurt said.

"I'll explain the whole thing at some point," Blaine said. He looked down at his shoes. "It was not one of my finer moments, to say the least."

"You could tell me now," Kurt offered.

Blaine glanced up. "Not now," he said softly. "I've haven't seen you smile in days. I don't want to take that away."

Kurt twisted his fingers together. "Oh," he said. "Okay."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Blaine asked, standing up with his hands still in his pockets. "Anything I can do?"

Kurt hesitated, then patted the space beside him on the bed. "Come sit with me?" he offered, his voice going a little higher than he liked.

Blaine sat down carefully beside him, still leaving plenty of room between them. "I think I can handle that," he quipped.

Kurt's heart thumped wildly. "I missed you," he said.

Blaine smiled. "I missed you too," he said. "Did the talk with the detective go well?"

Kurt nodded. He looked down at his hands. "Apparently they arrested Karofsky this afternoon," he said.

"Good," Blaine said firmly. "I'm glad."

Kurt picked at his fingernails. Blaine placed his hand over his. Kurt took a deep breath and turned his hand up so that his soft palm was against Blaine's and laced their fingers together. Blaine stared down at their clasped hands. "Oh," he said.

"Oh what?" Kurt said. "Is that a good 'oh' or a bad 'oh' or-"

Blaine squeezed his hand. "Oh, why didn't I think of that?" he said. He stared down at their hands, his callused fingers flush against Kurt's slender ones. "This was so much easier last night."

"What was easier?" Kurt asked.

Blaine smiled, still looking down. "Last night I didn't have to think about anything," he said. "Now…it seems like all I can do is overthink."

Kurt scooted a little closer. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Just…things," Blaine said.

Kurt closed the distance between them, pressing his body in the curve of Blaine's side. "You can tell me," he coaxed.

"I don't know what to say," Blaine said.

"Is it…is it about how you said you love me?" Kurt said shyly.

Blaine still gazed steadily at their hands, but a red flush rose on his cheekbones. "That would be a substantial part of it," he admitted.

"I'm glad you said it," Kurt whispered. "Because…I guess…I…"

The door opened and without thinking they both leaned away. Quinn stepped into the room, her cheerleading skirt swishing around her hips. "Hi," she said. "Was I interrupting…something?"

"No," Blaine said, unlacing his fingers from Kurt's and setting his hand back down with a gentle pat. "Not really."

Kurt barely contained his frustrated sigh. Quinn walked up to him and touched his cheek lightly. "Finn's right, you do look better," she said. She smiled. "There's some people waiting for you in the hall, and if you don't let them in they're probably going to riot."

"Well, we can't have that," Kurt said. He gestured towards the door. "Let them in."

Quinn leaned back. "It's safe, you guys," she called.

Rachel was the first one to walk in, carrying a plate with cookies. "Hi," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are those your I'm Sorry cookies?" he inquired.

"They taste best when there's guilt involved," she explained. She set them down on the table across from his bed. "You'd better be prepared. Everyone's here."

"Everyone?" Kurt said.

Mike and Tina walked in, holding hands. Tina looked a little nervous. "Hey, how're you doing?" Mike asked.

"I've been better, but I'm not too bad right now," Kurt said. "Hey, Tina."

"Hi," she said, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too," he said.

Sam poked his head in. "Oh, there you are, Quinn," he said. "Sorry, I couldn't remember which room you said he was in."

Quinn sighed. "You see why I can't leave him alone?" she said to Kurt, her voice light and teasing.

Sam halted when he got his first look at Kurt, and Kurt stiffened a little. "Hey, dude," he said. "Sorry about…you know. All of…this."

"You don't have to be sorry," Kurt said, still a little stiff. Blaine kept his hand over his and rubbed his thumb against the side of his palm.

"Well, I know, but…still. You know," Sam floundered helplessly.

Kurt forced himself to relax. "I know," he said. "Thanks for coming to visit. It's very nice of you."

"No problem," Sam said, still smiling awkwardly.

Puck strolled into the room. "Sup, Hummel," he said. "Whoa. You look like shit." He paused. Quinn whipped her head around to shoot a murderous glare in his direction. "I mean…well…"

"No, it's okay," Kurt said with an offhanded shrug. "I saw my reflection earlier."

Puck hesitated. "This sucks," he said bluntly. "If I'd known it was fucking Karofsky…" His voice trailed off. "This just sucks."

The room fell silent. Puck stared down at the tile floor and scratched the back of his neck, as if he was searching valiantly for something else to say. Kurt cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming to visit me," he said politely.

Quinn glanced towards the door. "We all came," she said. "It's just…"

Her voice trailed off. Kurt frowned. "What?" he said.

It took a moment, but he could hear the hushed argument in the hallway, right outside his door.

"It's okay, you can go in."

"No, no, I can't."

"Stop being such a baby."

"I'm not being a baby."

"Yes, you are, stop it and go in to see him. Don't you love him anymore?"

"I do, but I can't, I can't do it."

"Just hold my hand, okay?"

Kurt sat up. "Brittany?" he called.

The agitated conversation in the hallway quieted. Santana pushed the door open with one hand. Her other hand gripped Brittany's wrist firmly but gently. Artie rolled in behind Brittany, propelling her forward. "See, Brittany?" Artie said gently. "He's not dead, he's just hurt."

Brittany shook her head. "No, he's not," she said, digging her heels in and forcing Santana to yank her forwards.

Kurt beckoned to her. Brittany approached him warily, her eyes red-rimmed. "I'm not dead, I promise," he said.

She reached out and gingerly touched his free hand. "Are you hurting?" she asked.

He shifted uneasily. "A little," he said, painfully aware of all the eyes trained on him.

Brittany linked her pinky through his. "Are you going to die?" she asked.

"No, of course not, boo, I'm-"

He started to offer his usual dismissive answer. _I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm all right._

But he couldn't.

He had paused for too long. Brittany just looked at him, waiting for him to answer, but he could see everyone else in the room zero in on his hesitation. "I'm going to be okay," he said at last.

No one in the room seemed convinced. He glanced over at Blaine, and the sudden rising panic in his chest faded a little at the sight of Blaine's slight encouraging smile.

Brittany climbed into his hospital bed, seemingly unfazed by the fact that there were already two people there. "You have to be okay," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head in his lap.

Kurt toyed with her blonde ponytail. "I will be," he repeated, this time sounding a little more sure of himself. Blaine squeezed his hand.

"Oh, good, everybody's here," Finn said, surveying the room as he and Mercedes walked back in. He glanced at Brittany curled up in Kurt's lap. "Are you two, uh, back together?"

Blaine frowned. "We haven't gotten together earlier," he said, confused.

Mercedes snickered. "He meant Brittany," she smirked.

"What?" Blaine said.

Kurt brushed his bangs back from his forehead, refusing to acknowledge the blush rising on his cheeks. "Brittany and I dated last spring," he said loftily.

"Well, looks like he's moved on to someone else," Santana said, folding her arms and quirking an eyebrow. "Cute. Is there a straight version?"

"Afraid not," Blaine said.

"Kurt, why didn't you tell us you had a boyfriend?" Tina said. She smiled and moved a little closer to him.

"Oh, we're…we're not dating," Kurt said.

Brittany looked up at him. "Then why are you holding his hand?" she inquired.

Puck snorted. "Yeah, get it, Kurt," he said.

Kurt felt Blaine's fingers start to move from his. "Don't mind him, Blaine," he said, keeping his grip tight.. "He only has a few brain cells left, and apparently they're only the ones programmed for sex."

If he had said that back at McKinley, in the familiar safety of the choir room, Puck would probably shoot back some sort of profanity-laced reply, to which he would shoot back a sassy retort and a "bitch, please" look before high-fiving Mercedes. Instead, Puck just folded his arms and plunked down in a chair, laughing. "Well, damn," he said. "We've still got our smartass." "I never left," Kurt said primly, and he couldn't help but smile when his friends started laughing. Blaine squeezed his hand.

Brittany sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Are you sure he's not your boyfriend?" she said warily.

Kurt glanced at Blaine. "This is, uh…well, my…" 

_What am I supposed to say? _he thought wildly.

"This is Blaine Anderson," Mercedes cut in. "He's a really good friend of Kurt's from Dalton."

Kurt turned to look at her. She looked a bit resigned, as if she wasn't entirely happy about it, but she softened it with a smile. He shot her a quick, grateful grin.

"What kind of name is Blaine?" Santana said, wrinkling her nose.

Blaine laughed. "I get that a lot," he said easily.

"That's Santana," Kurt explained. "Don't mind her." He put his hand on Brittany's knee and squeezed lightly; she hugged his arm. "This is Brittany Pierce. Yes, we dated, it's a very long story, I'll explain it at some point."

Brittany smiled at Blaine. "He's a very good kisser," she said. "Have you kissed him yet? He does this thing with his-"

"Britt!" Kurt interrupted. Blaine just looked amused, but the rest of New Directions seemed shocked yet intrigued, and he really didn't want them asking any questions. "You've already met Quinn…that's Sam Evans. And Noah Puckerman, but we refer to him as Puck. Apparently 'Noah' is too difficult for him to spell on a day-to-day basis."

"Hey!" Puck protested.

Kurt continued down the line. "This is Artie Abrams," he said. "And that's Mike Chang and Tina Cohen-Chang. They're not related, though."

"Which is good," Mike added.

Tina smiled, but she still seemed a little hesitant, her dark eyes flicking over Kurt's bruises and injuries and the hospital bed that kept him prisoner. He beckoned to her. "Tina keeps me updated on everything that goes on at McKinley," he said. "We haven't gotten in a good gossip session in a while, though. What have I missed?"

Tina sat down at the foot of his bed, smiling shyly at him. He smiled back as she started hesitantly filling him on the McKinley gossip. The others started to join in, bantering back and forth while he laughed and offered his usual quips. Blaine still held his hand, gentle but tight, and he laughed at their conversation.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but before long the nurse was back to check on him. "Well, you're certainly popular tonight," Penny said as she handed him the thermometer. "Visiting hours are almost over, though, kids. You'll have to leave before too long. Kurt needs his rest."

Brittany frowned. "Kurt, when are you coming home?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"You are going to get out of here eventually, right?" Puck said.

Penny pulled the thermometer from his mouth. "We'll be able to discharge him when he's been fever-free for twenty-four hours," she explained. "It's an aftereffect from the hypothermia. His body is basically trying to balance itself out again."

"What's hypothermia?" Brittany asked.

"He was very, very cold for a long time," Rachel explained softly.

Kurt looked down at his knees as Penny worked over him and the room fell silent. He had been able to forget for a little while, to pretend that everything was fine. Now he couldn't.

"You kids have about fifteen minutes before visiting hours are over," Penny said as she handed him his medications and watched him take them. "He needs his rest, okay?"

She left the room. No one said anything. Kurt shrugged. "Well, this is awkward," he said.

Rachel and Quinn exchanged a look. "We should do this and go," Quinn said. "You do look tired."

"I'm all right," he said softly.

Rachel stood up and rested her hands on the foot of Kurt's bed. "I'm sure you won't be surprised, but this was my idea," she said. "But the song choice was entirely Quinn's."

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand. "Oh my god, I think they're going to sing," he whispered.

"You sound pretty happy about it," Blaine whispered back, his breath soft and warm against his ear.

"Mr. Schue wanted to be here too, but he had to stay behind," Finn said. "Apparently they're having some kind of meeting after school. About…you know. What happened."

"We just wanted to do something to show that we support you," Rachel said.

"And maybe it'll help you remember that you don't have to go it alone," Mercedes added. "We all care about you, baby, and you can always come to any of us when you need us."

Kurt took a deep breath. "So what are you going to sing?" he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "I have to say, I'm surprised that Rachel actually let Quinn make the decision."

"Her idea was the best," Rachel said simply, tucking her hand into Finn's.

Quinn bit her lip. "Last year, Kurt, you were there for me when…when I was going through a hard time," she said. "I know that my situation is nothing like yours, but I know what it's like to feel like your life is over. But you were there for me, and it's our turn to be here for you. So…I know it's kind of sappy, but just listen, okay?"

He nodded wordlessly. Rachel counted softly to start, and his friends started singing. It took him a moment to recognize the song, but his heart gave a sharp little tug as Quinn took the solo in her soft sweet voice. "You're not alone, together we stand," she sang. "I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand."

It felt like time stood still. His friends sang to him, their voices hushed and unaccompanied, trading off solos and blending together in soft harmony. He remembered singing the song just a little over a year ago. He just never thought that anyone would ever sing to him.

"There's nothing you can say, nothing you can do, there's no other way when it comes to the truth…so keep holding on, 'cause you know we'll make it through, make it through."

His chest ached. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes. But he refused to cry. Not now.

The room fell silent as they finished. Quinn was smiling, but a tear tracked down her cheek. Brittany snuggled close to him. Finn looked like he was close to crying himself, but he smiled instead. Even Puck seemed choked up.

"Thank you," he whispered. "That…that really means a lot to me."

Quinn leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't forget about us," she said. "We're here whenever you need us, okay?"

He nodded silently. His friends all came to bid him goodbye, the girls hugging him gingerly and the guys offering firm hand-clasps. Even Santana hugged him, touching her cheek lightly to his. "Sorry," she whispered, and he just nodded again.

Brittany was the last to go, unfolding herself slowly from his side. "I miss you," she said. "When are you coming back?"

"I'll go home when my fever's down, remember?" he smiled.

"No, when are you coming back to school?" she asked. He stiffened. "Now that Karofsky's gone, you can come back with us, right?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Are you going back to the school with the funny jackets?" she said.

For a second he thought about returning to Dalton, and all he could see was the parking lot, wide and dark and empty save one battered SUV, and he couldn't help but shudder. "I don't know," he said again. "I don't…I don't know where I'm going to go."

Brittany kissed him. "Well, get better, okay?" she said.

"Okay," he whispered. She slid off the bed and walked to the doorway where Artie waited for her. The door closed behind them.

Blaine squeezed his hand. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm…I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

Blaine slid his arm around his shoulders. "You are going to be okay," he said. "It's going to take a while, but you're going to get better."

"I wonder if they think I'm okay," he whispered.

"You're a good actor, Kurt, but you're not that good," Blaine said. "They're worried about you."

Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder. "I wish I could just get better," he said.

"I know," Blaine said softly. "I wish for you that you could get better. But that can't happen." He leaned his cheek against the top of Kurt's head. "We'll all be here for you though."

Kurt sat up. "You too?" he said.

"Of course," Blaine said. He brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "You look tired. I should go."

He got up from the bed. Kurt's heart banged against his ribcage in a sudden, insistent beat. "Wait," he blurted out. "Wait, I have to ask you something."

Blaine halted. "Sure," he said.

Kurt held on tightly to the crisp white sheets of his bed. "Did you mean it when you said you fell in love with me the first time you saw me on the stairs?" he whispered.

Blaine stood still. "I did," he said quietly. "And it's okay if you can't love me back. I don't want to pressure you."

He started to turn towards the door. "My mom always held my hand," Kurt said before he could stop himself. Blaine paused.

Kurt drew back a little. "My…my mom was always really affectionate," he explained, his voice faltering a little. "But after she died…there wasn't…there wasn't anyone to…to hold me anymore. My dad, I know he loves me, but he's just not all that demonstrative. But the one thing he's always been able to do for me is hold my hand. And it always…it always helps."

Blaine kept his eyes on his, calm and unfazed. Kurt twisted the blankets in his hands. "My dad had a heart attack, a few weeks before I met you," he whispered. "He was in a coma for a few days, and…and the whole time, all I wanted was for someone to hold my hand and tell me it was going to be okay. But…but nobody did."

Blaine took a hesitant step towards him. "Then I met you," he continued. "And…and I didn't have to say anything. It was like you just…knew. You knew that was what I needed."

Kurt looked up. "I fell in love with you when you held my hand."

Blaine closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and pulled Kurt into his arms. Kurt buried his face into his shoulder. "Do you mean it?" Blaine said, his voice slightly muffled. "You're not just saying it?"

Kurt shook his head. "No," he whispered. "No…I love you."

Blaine wrapped his arms tightly around him, one arm around his waist and one hand tangled in his hair. "I love you too," he said.

Kurt curled up against him, feeling his chest constrict. A few rebellious tears escaped despite himself and he felt Blaine rub his lower back gently. He twined his arms around Blaine's neck and leaned into him.

Blaine pulled back, cupping his cheeks in his hands. "That's all it took?" he said, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "Just holding your hand?"

Kurt nodded. Blaine took Kurt's hands in both of his and lifted them to his lips, kissing his scraped knuckles. "You have no idea," Kurt whispered. Blaine laughed softly and linked their fingers together.

The door opened for the millionth time that day. "Hi, boys," Carole said. "Kurt, your dad's on his way over. He's going to stay the night with you."

"Okay," Kurt said.

Blaine let go carefully of Kurt's hands. "I'd better go too," he said. "I've got school in the morning."

"You're welcome to come visit when your classes are over," Carole said, smiling.

Kurt caught Blaine's sleeve, tangling his fingers in the cuff of his hoodie. Blaine leaned over and hugged him. "I love you," he whispered in his ear, his voice low and throaty.

"I love you too," Kurt whispered back. Before he lost his nerve, he pressed his lips against the side of Blaine's head, kissing his dark curls.

Blaine pulled back, his eyes dancing. "Get some sleep, okay?" he said.

"Okay," Kurt said. He wasn't sure if it was possible for a person's heart to beat its way out of a ribcage, but he was fairly certain he was about to find out.

"See you later, Blaine," Carole said warmly as he passed by her on his way out. She walked over to Kurt and rearranged the blankets over him. "You know, Kurt, I think I really like that boy."

Kurt looked over her shoulder. Blaine stood in the doorway, still grinning broadly. _I love you, _he mouthed.

"You know what?" Kurt said. "I think I do too."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter, but oh, well. Kat helped me retool a lot of this. I kept having to go back and change things. At least it's a nice long update, right?

The next chapter is Karofsky-centric, and it closes out the first act. Then we start the intermission! Ugh. I don't know about you guys, but this first half has been so up-and-down that I would be thrilled to have just some straight-up fluff after all of this.

At least Kurt and Blaine are in love. And they know it. Yay! But when will they kiss? Bwahaha, I know and you don't know yet...it's going to be heart-meltingly adorable. I think.

Oh, well. Tell me what you think of this chapter! Your reviews (and the Knife Going In playlist on my iPod) are the best motivation to keep me writing! Hopefully I'll get back on a more regular updating schedule after this...


	14. You're the Worry

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

He hunched at the table in the interrogation room, his hands clutching a paper cup of now-icy coffee. It was silent, unnervingly silent, and the room had gone dark from the setting sun. His only company was his reflection in the dirty mirror opposite him, but he wasn't stupid. He knew they were standing behind that mirror, watching him, observing him like they might an animal in a cage.

That's what he was now, after all. A caged animal.

The door creaked open but he didn't bother to look up. "David, your parents have arrived," the detective said.

Fantastic. Just what he needed. His parents.

His mother pushed past the detective. "Oh my god, David," she said. He still didn't look up. "Oh my god, what the hell have you done?"

"What did they tell you?" he said in a low voice.

"I just got a phone call at work saying that I needed to get down to the police station because my son had been…" Her voice wavered, like she couldn't bring herself to say it. "My son has been arrested for assault. Assault, David?"

He hunched over his cup, staring into the depths of the bad tepid coffee. He said nothing.

Laura sat down opposite him. "Honey, please tell me this is a misunderstanding," she said. He didn't look up; she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Did you just get into a fight or something? I mean, if you were in a fight and it got out of hand, we can fix that."

He just stared at her. "I can't fix this," he said blankly.

His father walked into the interrogation room, his suit rumpled. "David, what's going on?" he asked, his voice measured. "What happened?"

Detective Finley closed the door. "David has been arrested for sexual assault," she explained quietly.

Laura whipped around. "Sexual?" she repeated. "Oh, god, David, did you rape somebody? Did you…did you rape your girlfriend? Oh, god, she's such a nice girl, how could you-"

"It wasn't Zooey," he said, his voice raw and rough. He had already talked more today than he usually cared to. He didn't want to keep going.

Paul sat down across from him. "Son, do we need to call an attorney?" he said.

"David waved his right to an attorney earlier," Detective Finley said. She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed her chest.

"Why?" Laura demanded. "You didn't tell them anything, did you?" She turned to the detective. "Whatever he said, there's no way it can be admissible in court."

"David is seventeen," Detective Finley said. "Legally, he doesn't require a parent or guardian present to give a statement."

Laura turned back around slowly. "You already gave a statement?" she said. "Are you…did you really do this?"

"David, you need to tell us what happened," Paul said.

He ran his hand through his hair. "I already told them," he said dully.

"Go on and tell us, son," Paul urged softly.

He stared dully in the depths of his cup, watching the undissolved grounds swirl in the murky dark liquid. "It was after the game against Westerville," he rasped. "I got drunk. Next thing I know I'm in the parking lot, and I'm…I'm doing stuff. Then I lost it. When I figured out what was going on, I got in my car and drove home."

Laura pressed her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god," she breathed. "I was waiting up for you. Friday night, right?"

He nodded.

She lunged across the table and slapped him. "You were drunk!" she accused. "How many times have your father and I told you not to drink! You just wouldn't listen!"

He leaned back, rubbing his cheek. Paul took Laura by the hand. "Calm down," he said. "David, where did you go? Who did you assault?'

Laura laughed bitterly. "My seventeen-year-old boy gets drunk and rapes some random girl," she said. She pressed her hands to her temples. "Oh, god, this sounds like some kind of network cop drama. David, what the hell did you do to this girl?"

He looked away, crossing his arms across his chest, barring them away.

"David?" Paul pressed. "Son, we can't help you if we don't know what happened. What did you do?"

He stared at a pale splotch on the dark wall. "I had him up against the car," he said in a low voice. "I thought…I thought I was dreaming, but I wasn't. When he started screaming, I panicked. I tried to get him to shut up. I…I thought I killed him."

"Him?" Laura whispered. "David, did you…did you do this to a guy?"

He didn't answer.

"Who was it?" Paul asked. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. "You've got to tell us, son."

He didn't look at them.

"Say something, David," Laura snapped.

He closed his eyes. "Kurt Hummel," he confessed.

"The boy whose father got you expelled from McKinley because you harassed him?" Paul said. "I don't…I don't understand, David."

He flexed his fingers, still staring at the wall. "He transferred to some prep school," he said in a low voice. "To get away from me. And I…I couldn't stand it anymore."

"I don't understand, David," Laura said, shaking her head. "You're…you're straight. You've had girlfriends. You've been dating that Zooey girl since the summer. There's got to be some mistake." She turned on the detective, rising from her chair. "You've made a mistake. My son didn't do this. Go find somebody else's kid to harass!"

"Mrs. Karofsky, your son has confessed to sexually assaulting Kurt Hummel," Detective Finley said.

"So?" Laura demanded. "You probably just badgered him into it! What's that called…coercion! We're going to sue you! All of you!"

"Mrs. Karofsky, Kurt confirmed earlier today that David assaulted him," Detective Finley said. "And this isn't the first time."

"My son isn't a fag!" Laura screamed, slamming her hands on the table. He flinched. "My son isn't gay! Tell her, David! Tell her you're not gay!"

He stared at the wall, his eyes burning.

Laura stood by the table, no longer breathing evenly. "David?" she faltered.

He said nothing.

She sank into the chair, lost for words.

Detective Finley stepped up to the table and set down a stack of 8" by 10" glossy photographs, spreading them out in front of his parents. "It's a good thing Kurt's family went looking for him," she said quietly. "He was left in the parking lot of his school, injured and left in the cold for hours."

Unwillingly he turned to stare at the photos. His heart constricted sharply in his chest. They were awful. Kurt's fair skin looked stark white in the pictures, his beautiful eyes dazed and unfocused. He was bleeding, and his bruises splotched over his body in purple and indigo and amber. His breath caught in his throat.

"I don't want to see these," Laura said, pushing them away.

"Kurt has been in the hospital since Friday night," Detective Finley said relentlessly. "Broken ribs, stitches, a black eye so swollen he couldn't see out of it. And a severe case of hypothermia, it took hours to get him warm again."

"David couldn't have done this," Laura protested. "You don't have any real proof!"

The detective pushed the photographs aside. "We already got a search warrant for your home," she said, dropping a plastic evidence bag on the table. "This is your son's tee shirt. That's Kurt Hummel's blood all over it."

Laura dropped her head in her shaking hands. "You said this wasn't the first time David…assaulted Kurt," Paul said. "When was the first time?"

He looked down at his tee shirt, crumpled in the evidence bag. "I kissed him in the locker room," he said. "A few months ago."

"You mean he kissed you?" Laura asked, almost wearily, as if her confidence was just melting away from under her.

He raised and lowered one shoulder. "I kissed him," he said. "I…I forced him to kiss me. He didn't want it."

"But he's gay," Laura spat. "Doesn't he want it?"

He half-smiled bitterly. "Not his type," he quoted.

Paul had been staring thoughtfully at him throughout the conversation, but now he cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Why did you do it?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," he said.

"David, there's a reason for everything," Paul said. "Why did you go after him? Why did you feel the need to hurt him? Why Kurt?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him!" he shouted. His heart raced. "I never meant to hurt him!"

"But you did," Detective Finley said.

He lunged to his feet, knocking his metal chair over with an ear-splitting clatter and knocking his cup over, splattering coffee over his clothes and the table and the floor. "I'm in love with him!" he roared. "I've been fucking in love with him since freshman year, okay? And I can't do anything about it, because if I came out of the fucking closet, that would be it! Everything would be over for me!"

He paused, an angry laugh bubbling out of his throat before he could stop it. "And do you know what makes it even better?" he demanded. "You know what? Even if I was damn gay, it wouldn't fucking matter, because I'm not his fucking type and he doesn't give a shit about me!"

He stared down at the pattern his spilled coffee had made on the tile floor. "He's fucking terrified of me," he said.

"Since freshman year?" Laura repeated, horrified. "David, how long have you…you thought you were gay?"

"Thought, Mom?" he retorted. "I've known since I was _fucking thirteen_!"

His parents fell silent. He knew they would. His head was spinning.

"Why couldn't you tell us?" Paul asked.

He raised a shaking hand towards his mother. Laura made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

Paul got up slowly and approached him. He dropped his hand on David's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, son," he said quietly.

Dave choked. His father kept his hand on his shoulder, his eyes unreadable. He didn't know what his father was thinking, and he was too scared to know.

"Detective, what's going to happen to my son?" Paul asked.

"We have his statement and we've processed him," Detective Finley said. "We'll hold him overnight until his arraignment tomorrow morning. Tomorrow they'll decide if they can release him into your custody or keep him in jail until the trial."

"There's going to be a trial?" Laura whispered.

"Kurt's father has pressed charges."

He stared into his father's familiar face. Paul kept his hand on his shoulder. "Will he go to jail or juvenile detention?" he asked.

"It depends," the detective said.

"On what?" Paul asked.

"It depends on whether or not David will be tried as an adult," the detective said.

His father gripped his shoulder, his fingers digging into the skin. His mother got up and left the room, her eyes red. Dimly he heard his father and the detective talking, but he heard nothing.

His eyes were trained on the stack of photographs on the table. Kurt stared up at him out of the picture, his eyes pale and dull, his skin marred, his body broken. He looked dead.

_I did this_, he thought. _I did this._

The other sounds in the room dulled and blurred and crashed in his ears. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Not now that his life was over.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the first act of _Knife Going In _comes to a close.

The next four chapters are sort of an intermission before we launch full-throttle into the trial. That's going to be a doozy. But I can guarantee that the next chapter will include Burt being an overprotective papa bear, Carole being the world's best stepmother, lots of Furt, and naturally, lots and lots of Klaine. The world needs more Klaine.

Thank you so much for your alerts, favorites, and most of all reviews! The response to this story has been overwhelmingly amazing, and now I'm really glad that I've kept writing it. Originally it was just going to be a oneshot! And special thanks go to Muchacha10, who drew a beautiful picture of Kurt and Blaine from chapter 11 (the link is in my profile if you want to see it).

Also, I mentioned the official KGI playlist, and several people asked me what my song choices are. So here they are! Feel free to give these songs a listen while you read; this is what I listen to while I write. Some of these songs will come into play in later chapters.

"Knife Going In" by Tegan & Sara

"I Want to Hold Your Hand" by Chris Colfer

"There For You" by Flyleaf

"Hospital Beds" by Florence + the Machine (cover of a song by the Cold War Kids)

"Breakable" by Ingrid Michaelson

"Samson" by Regina Spektor

"The Chain" by Ingrid Michaelson

"That's Okay" by the Hush Sound

"Who I Am Hates Who I've Been (Acoustic)" by Relient K

"No Comfort" by Parachute Musical

"Never Gonna Leave This Bed (Acoustic)" by Maroon 5

"Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons

"Fuck Was I" by Jenny Owen Youngs

"Chasing Pavements" by Adele

"If I Fall" by the White Tie Affair

"Your Heart is an Empty Room" by death cab for cutie

"Night Drive (Acoustic)" by All-American Rejects

"Safe in the Dark" by Ludo

"What a Catch, Donnie (Acoustic)" by Fall Out Boy

"Keep Holding On" by New Directions

"Bad Bad World" by Charlotte Sometimes

"Between Two Lungs" by Florence + the Machine

"Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

"Emergency (Acoustic)" by Paramore

"Rockferry" by Duffy

"How to Save a Life" by the Fray

"Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap

"Rangers" by A Fine Frenzy

"Brothers on a Hotel Bed" by death cab for cutie

"Come What May" from Moulin Rouge

"Oscar Wilde (Acoustic)" by Company of Thieves

Goodness, that's a long list! And my taste in music is rather...eccentric. But yes. That's the official "Knife Going In" playlist. It really does help me write; I turned on the playlist to write this chapter and got it down in about an hour, hour and a half. It's good motivation!


	15. Intermission: Part I

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

Kurt buried himself more deeply under the blankets and kept pretending to sleep. The car's heater was on full blast, but it did nothing to warm him up. It felt like nothing could keep him warm these days.

He probably didn't have to pretend to sleep. Between the rocking motion of the car and the low murmur of his father and Finn talking in the front seat, he was almost gone. But he didn't want to sleep yet. So he just huddled in the backseat, his aching head resting on a small pillow and his eyes shut tight.

He had spent all morning waiting for his father to arrive to take him home, but the process took longer than he expected. First all of that paperwork, then enduring the final physical exam. They wrote out an entire stack of prescriptions for him, various painkillers and vitamins and pills that he didn't even know what they did. And then they had to get him into the wheelchair and load him up into the car. It took hours. And now the hour and a half drive home from the hospital, and he was almost home. Finally. After nine days. Nine days of sitting around in that stupid bed, weak and bored and anxious.

Nine days since Finn and Blaine found him in the parking lot.

Now he was almost home, and part of him wanted to go back and hide in his hospital bed. Hide in the safety of routines and pastel walls and polite nurses. He didn't want to be back in the real world. Not yet.

The car pulled into his neighborhood. He could still hear his father and brother talking quietly, but he couldn't quite make what they were saying. That was okay.

His father parked in the driveway and shut off the car. Kurt resisted a shiver in the sudden absence of the heater. The engine whirred and clanked as it started to settle. "He's still asleep," Burt said softly.

"You want to wake him up?" Finn whispered.

"No, no, let him sleep," Burt said. "You think you can carry him in?"

"Yeah, I got him."

Burt got out of the car, shutting the door carefully. Kurt could hear him cross to the trunk and rummage around for his duffle bag. Finn climbed out of the passenger seat and opened the backseat door. Kurt opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. "Hey, buddy, you're awake," Finn said. He tried to helpfully unbuckle his seatbelt.

"I'm tired, Finn, not five," he said sleepily. He pushed the blankets away as they tangled hopelessly around his legs. "I can get up."

"Are you sure?" Finn said warily.

"I'm fine," Kurt insisted, shivering as the cold outside air hit him, but he managed to sit up and scoot to the edge of the backseat.

"Dude, you're not even wearing shoes," Finn said. He wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. Unconsciously Kurt gripped the collar of his coat as Finn lifted him out of the car. "Don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out," Kurt said, his good hand tightening on Finn's coat.

Finn jostled him in his arms as he straightened and bumped the car door shut with his knee, then carried him easily up the driveway. "Hey, Mom," Finn said, surprised. "I thought you were working."

Carole smiled as she held the front door open. "I got off early," she said. "Go ahead and put him on the couch."

Finn carried him into the living room and set him down more carefully than Kurt expected. Carole had already set up his pillow and several blankets on the couch, and she sat down beside him as he settled down. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, smoothing his hair away from his forehead.

"I'm all right," he said.

Burt walked in and set Kurt's duffle bag on the floor near the couch. "Hey, kiddo, you're awake," he said.

"Uh-huh," he said, stretching his legs out the length of the couch.

"You need anything?" Burt asked. "Drink of water or something?"

"No, Dad, I'm fine," he said.

Carole twisted around on the couch to face Burt. "What did the doctor have to say?" she asked.

Burt leaned his arms on the back of the couch. "They said he's got to take it easy for a while," he said. "They want him to come back next week to get his stitches taken out, and then he's got to come in for a checkup once a month. I got a stack of prescriptions for him a mile high."

Kurt shuddered a little. He had already cleared out a section of one of the kitchen cabinets for his father's collection of orange pill bottles. Now it was his turn.

"They gave me a schedule for him," Burt said, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a neatly folded square of paper. "If he's running a fever for more than twenty-hours, we've got to take him in. And they said we've got to keep an eye on him, in case he starts developing stomach ulcers."

"What?" Carole said. "Why?"

"Apparently it's some kind of side effect for people recovering from hypothermia," Burt said. "They said to bring him in he starts showing any symptoms, they'll start him on antibiotics before it gets too out of hand."

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here," Kurt mumbled.

Burt sighed. "Sorry, kiddo," he said. He squeezed his shoulder. "I'm going to run down to Walgreens and get your prescriptions filled. You want anything?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"You sure?" Burt pressed. "You want me to get you something to eat? You hungry for anything in particular? You gotta eat, kiddo."

Kurt sighed and looked up at his dad. "Apple pie from Brass Kettle?" he suggested reluctantly.

Burt grinned. "I'm on it," he said. He stroked Kurt's hair, his thumb smoothing gently over the line of stitches in the back of his head, then kissed him on the forehead. "It's good to have you home, son."

He smiled faintly. "Mm-hm," he said.

Burt gave his good shoulder one last squeeze before heading back to his truck. Carole smiled as she turned back to Kurt. "You're not really hungry, are you?" she said.

"Not really," he confessed. "But I knew that if I didn't say something, he would either keep pestering me until I came up with something, or he would just show up with everything he could possibly order off of the KFC menu."

Carole laughed. "That sounds like your dad," she said. "Is that what he's usually like when you're sick?"

He smiled. "The first time I got really sick after Mom died, I thought he was going to give himself a coronary," he said. "Honestly, it was just a bad cold, but he freaked out. I had to sleep with a nightlight and a humidifier, he fed me soup until it was practically came out of my ears, and it took weeks to get the smell of Vick's vapor rub out of my clothes."

Carole laughed again, stroking his hair away from his forehead. "How old were you?" she asked.

"Oh, about nine, I think," he said.

"So big enough to be mad about being babied, but little enough to secretly like it," Carole said.

He half-smiled. "Something like that," he said.

Carole picked up a blanket and draped it over him. "Kurt, I know that I'm not your mother," she said. "And I have no intention of even trying to replace her." He leaned his sore back against the pillows, twisting his fingers together. "But sweetheart…you really need a mom right now."

His heart gave an unexpected little pang. "It's been a long time since I've had a mom. I think I've forgotten what I'm supposed to do about it," he admitted.

"You don't have to worry about it," Carole reassured. "Let's just make a deal. You let me keep an eye on you, and I'll keep your dad from hovering you to death."

Kurt laughed, surprising himself a little. "I suppose it's only for him to hover me to death," he said. "It's what I've been doing to him since his heart attack."

"Well, now it's his turn. But in moderation, of course," Carole said. She brushed his bangs back and kissed him on the forehead. "Now. Honestly, Kurt. Is there anything you need right now?"

"I'm fine, really," he said. "I think I might sleep for a little while."

"Probably a good plan," Carole said. "Finn's going to football practice, so the house will be quiet for a few hours. Heaven help you if you try to take a nap with him stomping around."

He burrowed into his pillow and the couch cushions, trying to get comfortable. "Then I'll sleep while I can," he said.

Carole tucked the blanket around snugly with the deft touch only a mother could manage. "Sweet dreams, honey," she said.

He smiled at her, closed his eyes, and buried his cheek in his cool pillow. The couch shifted as Carole got up, and he did his best to fall asleep.

He never completely managed to sleep, but he stayed in a heavy doze for most of the afternoon, still slightly aware of his surroundings. Carole stayed in the kitchen washing dishes; he could hear the water running and the light clatter of dishes.

His dad came home after a few hours, closing the front door without his usual slam. Burt crossed to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy, and only paused for a moment in the living room. In his half-asleep haze he heard them talking in low voices, then the rattle of pills in bottles as he dropped the pharmacy packets on the kitchen counter.

Kurt still dozed as he felt the couch sink under his father's weight. Burt sat down beside him and placed his hand on his chest, rubbing his thumb lightly. He felt himself relax a little. It reminded him of all the times after his mother died and he would wake up in the middle of the night to his father soothing him like that.

"You're gonna be okay, kiddo," Burt murmured, his thumb gentle and rhythmic against his chest. "You're gonna be okay."

Kurt allowed himself to slip a little further into sleep. By the time Burt got up, he was too asleep to notice. He woke up to find the living room dark, save the string of twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. _Christmas tree? _he thought sleepily. _Where did that come from?_

He struggled to sit up, brushing uselessly at his hair. "Hey, hey, kiddo, careful," Burt warned. He dropped a string of tinsel on the back of the armchair and walked over to him. "You all right? You need some more sleep?"

"No, I'm okay," he said thickly. "Why're you putting up the tree?"

Burt grinned. "It's almost Christmas, kiddo, he said. "It's usually a pretty good time to put up a tree." He patted Kurt's knee. "We'll wait till tomorrow to put the ornaments on. I know you're real particular about where your mom's stuff goes."

"The glass snowflake has to be hung in the middle next to a blue light," Kurt mumbled sleepily.

"I know," Burt said. "We'll worry about it tomorrow, okay?" He grinned. "You must be tired. You slept right through Finn and I lugging that tree in."

Kurt frowned. "I thought he had football practice," he said.

Burt looked down at his shoes. "They cut it short," he said. "The police came in to question the players about Karofsky. Something about getting a character profile for the trial."

"The…the trial?" Kurt repeated.

"Listen, kiddo, the detective called me while you were asleep and told me what's up," Burt said. "They arraigned that Karofsky bastard last week and the judge released him into his parents' custody."

Kurt froze. "So he's…"

"He's not coming anywhere near you," Burt reassured him, clasping both of Kurt's cold hands in his. "The DA already stepped in, said that they couldn't release him to his parents without pulling out a restraining order. He comes within five hundred feet of you, he's sent right to jail, no bail, no questions asked."

Kurt struggled against the confines of the blanket tucked around his legs. "What about Finn?" he said. "Is Finn going to be okay? I mean, if they run into each other at school, and they're angry-"

"The restraining order covers the four of us," Burt explained. "Now, it's probably a good thing on my half too, since I sort of want to take a flamethrower to the side of his face. But it means you don't have to worry about us. And school's gonna be okay for Finn. Karofsky's parents pulled him out." He paused. "Well, his coaches kicked him off of the football and hockey teams. Then his parents pulled him out. Whole school's a lot safer now."

Kurt leaned back against the pillows, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. "What am I supposed to do about school?" he asked. "I can't…I don't think I can go back to Dalton."

"We'll worry about that later," Burt said. "I've been talking to the folks at Dalton, and they're doing their best to figure out what our options are."

"What about my end of semester exams?" Kurt said. "Don't I have to take them?"

"Something else to worry about later," Burt said. "Kiddo, you just got out of the hospital today. We've got to get you feeling better before we worry about stupid French tests or whatever." He squeezed Kurt's hand one last time, then let go. "Now, you hungry yet? I think Carole's going to start dinner soon."

"I'm fine with whatever," Kurt shrugged. "I'm not that hungry."

Burt frowned. "Carole'll make you whatever you want," he said. "You sure?"

"I'm sure, Dad," Kurt said.

"Is there-"

"Burt?" Carole called from the kitchen. "Can you come give me a hand?"

He stood up. "Sure, I'll be right there," he said, absently patting Kurt's knee. Kurt hid a smile and settled back against the pillows, fumbling for the television remote. He idly flipped channels until he landed on a rerun of Friends.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the basement stairs and the door banged open. "Oh," Finn said. "Hey. Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No, I'm fine," Kurt said, arranging the blanket over his legs. "The tree looks nice."

"Aw, thanks," Finn grinned as he flopped into the armchair. "I'm just glad I didn't wake you up. Or drop the tree on you or something."

"I do appreciate that," Kurt said dryly.

Finn propped his feet up on the coffee table. "So you like Friends?" he said.

"Mm-hm," Kurt said. "I'm surprised you've seen it."

"Yeah, Rachel's got the whole series on DVD," Finn said. "She kind of makes a big deal over getting named after Rachel Greene and everything. I think I've seen the whole series by now. Just not in order."

The two of them watched the sitcom in companionable silence for a while. Kurt listened to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the soft sound of his parents talking quietly. It really was nice to be home.

Someone knocked on the front door. Finn pushed himself out of the chair. "I got it," he said, ambling across the living room. He pulled the door open. "Oh, hey, Blaine."

Kurt sat up straighter. "Hey, Finn," he heard Blaine say. "How's Kurt? Is he asleep?"

"No, he's awake," Finn said. "He's in the living room if you want to see him. Well, I guess you want to see him, that's probably why you drove all the way out here."

Kurt brushed frantically at his hair and tugged down the hem of his tee shirt. There was no time to change. Just his luck.

Blaine dropped his bag on the living room floor and shrugged out of his coat, draping it over the back of the couch. "Hey," he said, smiling broadly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," Kurt said.

Blaine sat down beside him on the couch. "Are you glad to be home?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," he said. He looked down at his knees. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Finn grin and retreat into the kitchen.

Blaine smiled at him, looking him over almost hungrily. "You look so much better than you did in the hospital," he said softly. He drummed his thumb against his knee anxiously.

Kurt tentatively reached over and put his hand on the side of Blaine's knee. Blaine's face lit up. "I didn't know you were going to visit," Kurt said, almost shyly.

"I really wanted to be there when you were discharged from the hospital, but I had a test I couldn't miss," Blaine said, almost apologetically. He slid his hand over Kurt's. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you came to see me," Kurt said.

They smiled at each other, unable to think of anything to say, their hands caught together. Blaine rubbed his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand, featherlight over the three small black stitches. "I miss you," he said softly. "Dalton's not the same without you."

Kurt dropped his head. "Do they know?" he asked.

Blaine looked thoughtfully at their hands. "The faculty at Dalton let the students know that you were attacked, and you were hospitalized," he said. "That's all. They know better than to press for information." He kept rubbing his hand. "I told David and Wes that it was the same person who tormented you at McKinley. No one at Dalton knows any more than that, except me."

Kurt didn't look up. "Thank you," he said. "I even don't want to think about the rumors running around at McKinley."

"Hey," Blaine said softly. "Hey, look at me." He tapped Kurt's chin and he looked up slowly. Blaine smiled at him. "Don't worry about what other people are thinking. You haven't done anything wrong. Let them spread whatever rumors they want. You know they're not true." He leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Kurt closed his eyes briefly at the soft touch, smiling just a little.

"I'll try to remember," he whispered. Blaine's smile widened.

Burt walked out of the kitchen. "Hey, there, Blaine," he said. "How're you doing?"

"Fine, thank you, sir," Blaine said politely. He surreptitiously leaned a little away from Kurt, but he didn't take his hands away. "I just wanted to come visit Kurt. I hope I'm not intruding."

"At this point, you're practically family," Burt said. "Carole's working on dinner, you hungry?"

"Well, I don't-"

"We've got plenty," Burt said. "Dinner'll be ready in about ten minutes."

Kurt caught the glance his father shot at their clasped hands, but thankfully Burt said nothing as Blaine accepted the offer of dinner and Burt went to set out another place at the table. Finn sauntered over and plopped back in the armchair.

"So, Blaine, do you watch Friends?" he asked.

"I do," Blaine said. "You can never go wrong with Friends."

_He's still holding my hand, _Kurt thought. _In front of Finn and everything._

He sat up, folding his legs to make room for Blaine beside him on the couch. Blaine scooted back, sitting close to him. "My girlfriend always says I'm a Ross," Finn said.

Kurt laughed unexpectedly. "Oh my god, she's right," he said. "You are totally a Ross. Ross and Rachel. It's perfect."

"I've always considered myself to be a Chandler," Blaine mused.

"Really? A Chandler?" Kurt said.

"I could see that," Finn said, nodding sagely.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Does this mean I'm Joey?" he said.

"You, my dear, are a Monica," Blaine said.

"What?"

Finn squinted and tilted his head to the side. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, you're totally a Monica."

"I don't want to be a Monica," Kurt pouted.

"No, no, you totally are," Finn said. "You like everything super clean, and you cook a whole lot, and you're always freaking out about something."

Kurt kept pouting. Blaine leaned over. "You do remember that Chandler and Monica get together, right?" he whispered.

Kurt blushed. Blaine smiled. Finn laughed along with the laugh track on the television. "Oh, man, I love the Thanksgiving episodes," he snickered.

The three of them watched the rest of the episode together. Kurt held Blaine's hand surreptitiously, Blaine's warm fingers wrapped firmly around his. Finn remained oblivious as he cracked up at the sitcom rerun.

"Boys, dinner's ready," Carole said. She walked over to the living room and leaned over the back of the couch. "Finn, can you pour water for everyone?"

"I'm on it," Finn said, unfolding himself from the armchair.

Carole put her hand on Kurt's shoulders. "Honey, do you want to eat here on the couch, or do you want to sit at the table?" she asked.

"I can get up," Kurt said, scooting towards the edge of the couch.

"Go slow," Carole warned. "Blaine, can you help him?"

"I've got him," Blaine said.

Carole kissed the top of Kurt's head and gave him one last pat on the shoulder before walking back towards the kitchen. Blaine stood up and held out his hands. "Sorry I'm so slow," Kurt apologized. "Moving takes a lot longer than it used to."

"Take your time," Blaine said, holding his hands tightly. He supported Kurt as he stood up slowly; as Kurt regained his balance, Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist. "Careful."

"I'm being careful," Kurt protested.

Blaine supported him on the short walk from the living room to the kitchen. "Kiddo, you didn't have to get up," Burt said.

"I'm fine, Dad," Kurt said. Blaine pulled his chair out and helped him sit down. "I'm perfectly capable of sitting up at the table."

"Says the boy that wouldn't let me leave the couch for two weeks," Burt retorted.

"Go ahead and sit down, Burt," Carole said. "I know this isn't very fancy, but I figured you'd like something uncomplicated for your first night home."

"No, it looks great," Kurt said. "Thank you."

Carole set the plate down in front of him. He stared at the tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich. "Go on and eat," she said. "You need to have something in your stomach before you take your medications or you'll make yourself sick."

Kurt picked at his sandwich while he listened to the others talk, tearing off little bits of his sandwich and dipping them idly in his soup. He listened while Finn explained the "grilled Cheesus" story, and he listened while Carole explained why Finn destroyed the George Foreman grill with his wet shoes. He smiled, but he didn't say much.

Blaine talked easily with the rest of his family., but every so often Kurt felt Blaine's hand rest on his knee, squeezing lightly. He glanced up at him and smiled; Blaine winked.

"So what's your family doing for the holidays, Blaine?" Carole asked.

"Well, we usually visit my mother's parents in Pennsylvania," Blaine said. "But my grandparents called this weekend to say they've decided to go away on a two-week cruise in the Caribbean for Christmas, so we're trying to figure out what to do."

"Why not come here?" Burt suggested.

Kurt dropped his spoon.

"Oh, Mr. Hummel, that's really generous of you, but I-" Blaine began.

"Your parents were kind enough to let us stay with them while Kurt was in the hospital," Carole said. "The least we could do invite your family over for Christmas dinner."

Blaine glanced at Kurt and smiled, then flashed that same disarming grin at Carole. "I'll ask them," he said. "Thank you."

The rest of the family finished eating before he had gotten halfway through his dinner. Carole cleared out most of the dishes as Burt got up to help her and Finn headed out to do homework. Blaine piled his utensils neatly on his plate before handing it to Carole with a smile and a thank you.

"I'm sorry I'm so slow," Kurt apologized. "I just…I'm not very hungry."

"You need to eat," Blaine said.

Kurt sighed. "I know," he said.

Blaine nudged his spoon a little closer to his hand and started telling him about the last Warblers rehearsal, when Jeff pitched a fit over his eighth failed audition. Kurt picked up his spoon and started eating while Blaine talked to him, and by the time he finished the story his soup was gone.

Blaine glanced down at his empty bowl. "See? Was that so hard?" he said playfully.

Kurt nudged him. "You were distracting me," he said.

Blaine nudged him back. "Guilty."

Carole took the plate with his empty bowl and half-eaten sandwich away. Kurt glanced at his parents, mere feet away, and ducked his head. "Should we be flirting with my dad right here?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Blaine whispered back. "Are we flirting?"

Kurt looked at him, mouth agape. "I thought…I mean…we said…are we not supposed to…"

Blaine laughed silently and squeezed his knee. "I'm just kidding," he said softly. "We're just doing this all out of order. It's supposed to be flirt, then kiss, then say 'I love you'."

Kurt bit his lip. "If we're doing this backwards, shouldn't you kiss me now?" he whispered.

Blaine's eyes softened; Kurt saw his hazel eyes flick down towards his lips. "Maybe if-"

"What are you boys whispering about?" Carole asked.

Blaine leaned back. "Oh, nothing," Kurt said.

Carole set a tumbler full of milk and several brightly colored pills in front of Kurt. "Well, take these and then lie down for a while," she said. "And remember, honey, we've got painkillers for when you need them."

Kurt placed one pill in his mouth and took a sip. "Why does this taste weird?" he asked.

Carole turned on the hot water in the sink. "I know you like skim milk, but we're switching you to whole for a while," she said. "You've lost too much weight and the doctors are worried."

Kurt stared into the depths of the glass tumbler as Carole turned back to the dishes. Blaine rubbed the back of his neck. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly.

"I'm thinking I hate this," Kurt said.

"I know," Blaine said. "But you're going to get better. I promise."

Kurt sighed and slowly worked his way through his medications, following each pill with a sip of milk. "Ugh, I feel like I'm drinking cream," he said, making a face. "Ew."

"Come on," Blaine said, holding out his hands. "Let's get you back to your couch."

"I hate being an invalid," Kurt grumbled. He leaned heavily on Blaine's arms as he pushed himself to his feet.

"What, you don't like getting spoiled?" Blaine said.

"Oh, I like getting spoiled," Kurt said. "I just don't like it when it includes getting tricked into eating and swallowing horse pills with gross milk."

He struggled to hide a wince as he sank into the sofa. His broken ribs throbbed.

"Well, what kind of spoiling do you like?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know," he said.

Blaine sat down on the end of the couch and placed a pillow on his knees. "Come here," he said.

Kurt frowned. "What?" he said.

Blaine patted the pillow. "Come on, lie down," he said.

Kurt glanced back at the kitchen. "Are you sure?" he said.

"Mm-hm," Blaine said. "Come on. You know you want to."

Kurt scooted closer and laid down slowly, resting his head on the pillow. Blaine picked up the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him. "Anything in particular you'd like to watch?" he inquired.

"Mm, I'm fine with whatever," Kurt said. "Pick whatever you'd like."

Blaine flipped around until he landed on a Mythbusters marathon on the Discovery Channel. Kurt stretched his legs out on the couch. The pillow felt cool against his cheek, and he could feel the sturdiness of Blaine's thighs under his head.

After a while he felt Blaine's fingertips against his temple. He resisted a shiver as Blaine lightly stroked his fingers through his hair. Kurt closed his eyes. Blaine smoothed his hair gently while they watched the explosions and funny banter. The soft rhythm started to lull him to sleep.

They were in the middle of the third episode when Kurt felt a big, rough hand pat him lightly on the back. "Hey, kiddo," Burt said. "You should go to bed." "Mm?" Kurt murmured sleepily.

"Your dad says you should go to bed," Blaine said.

Kurt pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Hey, hey, not so fast," Burt said. "Let's get you downstairs, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt murmured.

Burt tugged his legs over the side of the couch and helped him to his feet. "You need me to carry you?" he asked.

"No, 'm fine," Kurt said.

He felt like a little kid getting trundled off to bed as his dad half-walked, half-carried him down the steps to his bedroom. Surprisingly, the basement was mostly clean, although admittedly Finn's half looked like a well-contained hurricane came through. Burt made him sit down on his bed as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. "You need help with anything?" he asked.

"No, 'mokay," Kurt said. "I might take a shower, though."

Burt raised an eyebrow. "You're sure you don't need help?"

"I'll be okay," Kurt said.

"You call me if you need anything, okay?" Burt said. "Anything at all."

Kurt sat still as his father cupped his cheeks in his hands, trailing his thumb along the edge of the yellowing bruises of his black eye. "I'm glad you're home, scooter," Burt said at last.

"Me too," Kurt said.

Burt studied his face carefully. "I'll come check on you in a little bit, okay?" he said..

"Okay," Kurt said. Burt gave his cheek one last pat before heading back upstairs.

Kurt stood up slowly, wobbling a little without someone to support him, but he made his way to his dresser and picked out a clean set of clothes before limping to the bathroom.

Carole had already unpacked his duffel bag from the hospital; his usual products were already waiting from him. He undressed slowly, dropping his clothes on the floor before stepping carefully into the shower.

Hot water pelted his skin and soaked into his hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the spray. It took a lot longer to wash his hair with only one good hand, but the scent of his shampoo was familiar and reassuring.

He stayed in the shower until the water started to turn, the warmth easing some of the pain from his body. Reluctantly he switched it off and wrapped a thick plush towel around himself. He pulled the shower curtain back slowly. There was no way he wanted to make himself black out again from the sharp temperature change.

Thankfully, it didn't bother him this time, and he managed to dry off, get dressed, and brush his teeth without any incident. He was also thankful for the thick layer of steam covering the mirror and obscuring his reflection.

Kurt hung the towel over the bar and switched off the lights as he walked out of the bathroom and back to his room. He paused. "Oh," he said.

Blaine glanced up. He was sitting on Kurt's bed with a book open on his knees. "Hey," he said. "I realized I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, so I thought I would wait."

"Um," Kurt said. "Yeah. I'm a night shower person."

He glanced at the rows of moisturizers on his vanity. _Skin routine…or Blaine. Skin routine…or Blaine, _he thought.

"So what are you reading?" Kurt finally asked aloud.

"Well, it was on Finn's nightstand, out in the open," Blaine said.

Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh, no, you're not…"

Blaine held up Finn's copy of McKinley's yearbook. "It's a good read," he offered.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You're teasing me," he said.

"Maybe just a little," Blaine admitted. He set the book aside and stood up. "Come lie down. You look exhausted."

"I don't know why I should be exhausted," Kurt said. "All I've done for a week and a half is lie around and do nothing."

Blaine pulled the sheets back. "Kurt, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself," he said. "You've been through a lot."

Kurt laid down on the bed, unconsciously letting out a sigh of relief as he snuggled into his soft familiar bed. "Umf," he said into his pillow. "I am never going back to a hospital bed."

"I certainly hope not," Blaine said. He sat back down; Kurt scooted over to make room. "Now, I have some questions for you about this yearbook of yours."

"I thought it was Finn's," Kurt smirked as he sat up.

Blaine pressed his hip against his. "Details, details," he said with a wave of his hand. He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders and set the open book between them. "Now. Football team. What?"

"What about it?" Kurt asked, snuggling into Blaine's side.

"You never told me you were a football player," Blaine said.

"Only for a game or two," Kurt said. "I managed to join the team in time for pictures, but I really only played once or twice. I was the kicker."

"How did you manage that?" Blaine asked.

Kurt laughed and told him the story. Blaine listened attentively, looking alternately from Kurt to the photographs with a smile playing on his lips. "So you really used 'Single Ladies' to win the game?" Blaine said.

"Oh, yes," Kurt said. "I think Finn can still do the dance. Not well, but he can do it." He shifted a little closer to Blaine. Somehow in the course of the story Blaine's arm had slipped from around his shoulders to around his waist, his hand resting on the side of his thigh.

"I think my favorite picture is your glee club photo," Blaine confessed, flipping to the page. "If that's how you dress on a normal day, I wish Dalton didn't have uniforms."

Kurt laughed. "Do you know what my favorite picture is?" he asked slyly.

"No, what?" he asked.

Kurt reached over and turned to the Cheerios section. "That's my favorite."

Blaine gaped. "Is that…is that you?"

"Uh-huh."

"In a cheerleading uniform?"

"Uh-huh."

Blaine let out a low whistle. "You are full of surprises, sir," he said, shaking his head.

"I won the Nationals title for the Cheerios that year," Kurt said proudly.

"All right, you have to tell me about this," Blaine said.

Kurt stayed close to him while he told him about being a Cheerio. Blaine definitely seemed appreciative, interjecting little impressed noises every so often and urging him on. By the time he finished, Kurt's head was resting against Blaine's chest, and Blaine had both arms tight around him.

"There are vides of this, right?" he said.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "Coach Sylvester tapes…everything." He yawned in the middle of the sentence.

"I think you need to go to sleep," Blaine said. "You look exhausted."

"I don't think I can keep my eyes open anymore," Kurt admitted.

Blaine slid out of the bed and set the yearbook on the nightstand. "Here, lie down," he said.

Kurt obeyed, lying down on his back. Usually he was a stomach sleeper, but he was too sore for that. Blaine pulled the covers up to his shoulders and smoothed them out before sitting down carefully beside him. He brushed his damp hair back from his forehead. "Get some sleep," he said.

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Kurt murmured.

Blaine bent over him. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Kurt said, gazing up at Blaine.

Blaine kissed him on the cheek, a soft, lingering kiss. "Sweet dreams," he said. Kurt smiled sleepily and closed his eyes.

When he opened them it was dark. He was by himself. The door wasn't where it should be. There wasn't a soft hazy light shining from the hall, or the soft murmur of nurses talking, or the light beep of machines. He pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting in the darkness. "Blaine?" he called, his voice hoarse.

No one answered. He was alone. If something happened, he would be alone, and no one would notice. Anything could happen. Anyone could come after him.

His breath caught in his throat. "Dad?" he ventured. "Dad?"

The bathroom door opened and Finn peeked in, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by his mouthful of toothpaste.

Kurt struggled to catch his breath, his side aching badly. All he could do was shake his head.

Finn disappeared into the bathroom; vaguely Kurt heard him spit and run water in the sink. In a second he reappeared, dressed in his worn out pajamas. "Dude, are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need me to get Burt?"

Kurt shook his head. For some reason he couldn't string words together.

Finn plunked down on his bed. "Seriously, Kurt, what's wrong?" he asked.

Kurt struggled to catch his breath. "Alone," he managed to say. "I don't…I don't think I can handle…knowing I'm alone." His heart raced. "I was alone, and he…he found me, and…" He drew his knees up and dropped his head. "God, I'm so stupid."

Finn put his hand on his back. "No, no, you're not stupid," he said gently. "If it had been, I think I'd sleep in my mom's room with the lights on until I was twenty-seven."

Kurt kept his head against his knees. "I can't…I just can't stand it," he murmured.

There was a long pause. "Scoot over," Finn said at last.

Kurt sat up. "What?"

"Scoot over," Finn said, flashing his lopsided grin. Confused, Kurt obeyed. Finn squished in beside him, tugging the covers over them both. "Just for tonight, okay? So you can get used to being at home again."

Kurt froze as Finn settled in beside him. "And I figure if you wake up freaked out again, I'll be here," he continued, sounding slightly drowsy.

Kurt relaxed a little. Finn was solid and warm and reassuring next to him. "And if anybody comes in after you, I'll get 'im," he finished.

"Thanks, Finn," Kurt murmured.

"No problem," Finn grinned. He rolled over onto his side, his back towards Kurt. "'Night, Kurt."

"G'night," Kurt said.

Finn fell asleep almost immediately, his breathing falling into his usual heavy, open-mouthed pattern. Kurt stared at the ceiling for a while, glancing around at the darkened corners of the room, his heart pounding for no sensible reason. But Finn was a comforting wall beside him, and he could still feel Blaine's lips against his cheek, and before long he fell asleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Ah, sweet fluff. Still a measure of angst, but still. Oh, Blaine. He just adores Kurt. Precious.

And the Andersons are coming over for Christmas! And guess who will be there? Francey. Finally, she will meet Kurt. And Finn will team up with Francey. And Burt...is going to put the pieces together about his son and Blaine.

This was a longish chapter, but it flowed pretty easily. I just love writing Kurt and Blaine totally in love with each other.

So...next chapter. We get to see Christmas for the Hudmels and Andersons. More fluff. Thank goodness.


	16. Intermission: Part II

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine shifted his weight anxiously on the front stoop of the Hudson-Hummel house. He gave his sister a sidelong glance. "You had better be good," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

"I will," she said serenely.

"No, seriously, you have to be good."

"Blaine. Chill."

"You know you have a really bad track record with things like this."

"I'll be an angel."

"You can't swear while we're here."

"I don't swear that much."

"Seriously? You swear like a sailor on three-day shore leave."

"And you don't swear enough."

"That's because you do it for me."

"Well, if you'd get the stick out of your ass and lighten up…"

Their father turned around. "Children," he said. "Do we have to separate you again?"

"The car ride here was bad enough," Blaine mumbled.

"Blaine, Frances, stop bickering," Anna said.

"He started it," Francey said immediately.

Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, the front door opened. "Hey, there," Burt said. "Come on in."

Blaine took Francey by the arm as Burt and his parents exchanged pleasantries. "Seriously, Francey, you _have _to be good," he said.

"I will, now calm down," she said, elbowing him back.

"Burt, this is our daughter, Francey," Anna introduced.

Francey flashed her most charming smile and held out her hand to Burt. "Pleasure to meet you," she said.

"You too," Burt said, shaking her hand. "Come on in. Carole's in the kitchen, Anna." He clapped Blaine on the shoulder. "Kurt's on the couch."

Blaine shrugged out of his coat. "How's he doing?" he asked.

"It's been a good day for him," Burt said. He took Blaine's coat and draped it over the coat rack. "Go on."

Blaine handed him his scarf and walked into the living room. Kurt was sitting up on the couch, a red and green plaid blanket tucked around him. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were bright and alert. Blaine's heart gave a treacherous little leap. "Hi," he said softly.

Kurt looked up, his lips turning up in a smile. "Hi," he said. "I thought I heard you come in."

Blaine sat down next to him. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Your dad said you're having a pretty good day."

"I am," Kurt said. "Merry Christmas to me, I suppose."

Blaine bent down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "It's definitely a good Christmas," he said. He paused. "Although I have to warn you…my sister's here."

"Why should I be concerned about Francey?" Kurt asked.

Blaine glanced over his shoulder. "She can be a little…well….she's got a very strong personality," he said.

Kurt tilted his head to the side. "Will she not like me?" he asked.

"No," Blaine said quickly. "No, no, that's not it. She'll love you, she has to love you. It's just…she can be a bit overbearing."

Kurt folded his hand and set them primly on his knees. "I think I can manage," he said. "I think the problem will be keeping your sister away from my brother. Finn won't know what hit him."

"Very true," Blaine agreed. He squeezed Kurt's hand. "All right, brace yourself. Here she comes."

"Is she a person or the first hill on a roller coaster?"

"I think a little of both."

Francey waltzed over to them, her red trapeze top swishing over her skinny jeans. "So this is Kurt," she said. She plunked down unceremoniously beside them on the couch, nudging Blaine out of the way, and cupped Kurt's chin in her hands. "Hi, baby. Oh, you're even more adorable in real life."

"I'm glad I don't disappoint," Kurt quipped.

"Oh, good, a sense of humor," Francey said. "Blaine needs one of those. He's got that 'good Dalton boy' stick shoved so far up his ass that I think it'll need to be surgically removed when he graduates."

Kurt tugged on his earlobe. "You know, I could make a dirty joke here, but I think I'll refrain," he said.

"Oh, lord, Blaine had better keep you," Francey said. She pinched Blaine's cheek playfully as he studiously avoided Kurt's gaze. "Blaine here could use a little lightening up."

"I'll do my best," Kurt said, folding his hands on his knees.

Finn ambled out of the kitchen. "Hey, guys," he said. "Mom says dinner's ready. Hey, Blaine." He did a doubletake. "Hey, girl who looks just like Blaine."

"I'm his sister," Francey clarified, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm shake. "Francey Anderson."

"Finn Hudson," Finn said, slightly startled. He pointed towards Kurt. "I'm that one's brother." He shifted his weight. "So, uh, you guys want to come to dinner?"

"If there's food, I'm so there," Fracey said, standing up gracefully. "Blaine, you got your boyf, or do you need help?"

"Oh, uh, he's, uh, we're not…" Blaine stammered.

"He's got me," Kurt said peacefully. "Tell Dad and Carole I'll be there in a second, okay? I'm kind of slow."

"Yeah, yeah, take your time," Finn said, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll wait for you."

Francey jabbed Finn lightly in the ribs. "Aren't you going to offer me your arm, sir?" she said.

"Well, uh, yeah, I guess," Finn said. He stuck out his arm with a goofy grin. "You wanna go get some Christmas ham?"

Francey tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. "I would be delighted, sir," she said cheerfully.

Blaine shook his head as his sister sashayed off. "I am so sorry," he mumbled.

"Oh, don't be," Kurt said. "She's hilarious. And she baffles Finn, which makes it even funnier." He plucked uselessly at the thick wool blanket draped over his legs. Blaine pulled it back, tossing it over the back of the couch. His stomach twisted a little. He'd seen Kurt wear those skinny jeans before, but back then they were practically painted on. Now they were baggy around his knees and ankles.

Kurt carefully eased his legs over the side of the couch. Blaine tucked his hands under his elbows and helped him stand up, trying not to hold on too tightly to Kurt's thin arms. Kurt winced a little. "What's wrong?" Blaine asked. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no, just…broken ribs, they kind of stick with you," Kurt said. He smiled. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

"I don't quite believe that," Blaine said, still holding tightly to Kurt's arms. He brushed his arms lightly against his skin, then almost as an afterthought he leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He'd kissed Kurt on the cheek before, but somehow…this felt different. Kurt's skin felt soft and cool under his warm, slightly chapped lips, and he smelled amazing. Kurt looked at him from under his long soft lashes, his eyes soft and shining blue.

Francey stuck her head out of the dining room. "If you boys don't get your asses in here, you shan't get any ham," she announced.

Kurt blinked, his lashes brushing his cheeks. "Well, we can't have that," he said.

Blaine swallowed hard. "We're coming, Francey," he called.

"Mmkay," Francey said, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Blaine put an arm around Kurt's waist, holding him close to his side. "You need me to carry you?" he asked.

Kurt laughed. "I'm not that bad off," he said. "I can make it to the table at least."

Blaine kept his arm around him, matching Kurt's slow, careful steps. Kurt leaned against him heavily as they walked into the dining room. "Hey, kiddo, pace yourself," Burt said, taking Kurt's arm protectively. Blaine took a step back.

"Dad, if I went any slower, I would be going backwards," Kurt said as Burt guided him into an empty chair.

"Yeah, well, I just don't want to see you pushing yourself too hard," Burt said, patting him lightly on the back.

"Go ahead and sit down, Burt," Carole said. "We're waiting on you."

"I know, I know," Burt said sheepishly. Blaine slid into the seat beside Kurt. "Now, I know we're not usually a praying sort of family, but it seems only appropriate at a time like this, so I guess I'll say something."

Francey pressed her hands together and tilted her head down, her curls cascading around her shoulders. She looked angelic, but Blaine knew better. Sure enough, as Burt started mumbling through the prayer, she looked up at her brother, greeny-hazel eyes dancing, and mouthed something at him that was entirely too dirty for normal conversation, much less in the middle of a Christmas dinner prayer. He just rolled his eyes and glanced over at Kurt.

Kurt's eyes were half-lidded, bright spots of blue showing under his lashes. He looked over at Blaine, and quietly reached under the cover of the table to take his hand. Surprised, Blaine squeezed his fingers over Kurt's, smiling at the feel of Kurt's soft thin skin and firm knuckles.

"…and, uh, amen," Burt said.

"Amen," Blaine murmured along with his parents and Carole, giving Kurt's hand one last squeeze before letting go.

The adults passed around the serving dishes, chatting amiably. Blaine kept watching Kurt out of the corner of his eyes. "Don't worry about me, I'll get enough to eat," Kurt said in a low voice, smiling a little.

"Oh, I know," Blaine said. "I just…you're really thin."

"I'll be fine," Kurt said.

"Hey, Kurt!" Francey said from across the table. "Heads up!"

Kurt looked up just in time for Francey to smack him in the face with a roll. "Can't you at least pretend to be civilized?" Blaine asked. Kurt just laughed and took a small bite.

"Frances, _please _act your age," Anna said wearily.

Finn snickered. "Your name is Frances?" he said.

Francey rolled her eyes. "You can thank my mother for that," she said.

"That is a unusual name," Carole said, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. "Both of their names, actually."

"That would be Anna's fault," Jack sighed. "_I _wanted to name her Meghan."

"It's just that when I was pregnant, I spent a lot of time watching movies from the eighties," Anna said. "Especially Dirty Dancing."

"And for some reason she thought it would be a fantastic idea to name me after the heroine of said film," Francey said. "The options were either 'Baby' or 'Frances'."

"_I _wanted to name her Meghan," Jack said. "But we compromised. She said she would pick the first name for our first child, I could pick the name for our second."

Francey gestured to herself. "Hence, Frances Meghan Anderson," she said.

"But when we were expecting this one," Anna said, patting Blaine's hand, "I was still watching a lot of eighties movies. This time it was Pretty in Pink."

"Hence, Blaine," Blaine murmured to Kurt, whose lips twitched in amusement.

"But it was my turn to name the baby, and _I _wanted to name him Zachary," Jack said.

Kurt turned to Blaine. "Your full name is Zachary Blaine Anderson?" he said.

"Guilty," Blaine shrugged.

"Then why-"

"They weren't counting on Francey," Blaine grinned. "She had a tremendous speech impediment."

"Tremendous?" Kurt said, arching an eyebrow.

Anna sighed. "She pronounced her 's' and 'z' sounds as an 'f', and none of her vowels came out properly," she said. "Her little brother's name came out sounding…a bit dirty."

Finn put down his fork and cocked his head to the side. "Fackery?" he tried. "Fickery? Fuckery?"

"Finn!" Carole exclaimed, horrified.

"That would be it," Jack said ruefully. "We couldn't get Francey to say 'Zachary' properly for the life of us."

"Eventually we had to compromise and tell her to just call the baby Blaine," Anna said.

"Still couldn't say that," Francey said, lazily spinning her spoon between her fingers. "Usually it came out as 'Beeyaine.' Or better yet, 'dat babbie'."

"She was trying to call me 'that baby'," Blaine explained. "Couldn't even say that right. Poor little spaghettah nahdle." Kurt arched both eyebrows as Francey rolled her eyes at him. Blaine scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, inside joke."

"Yeah, Kurt's name was sort of an accident," Burt said, spearing a forkful of stuffing. "His mom and I kept arguing about names, and she said 'well, I'll just name him after somebody from the Sound of Music,' and the next thing I know I'm writing 'Kurt' on his birth certificate."

"She used to watch The Sound of Music at least once a month," Kurt explained.

Anna smiled at Carole. "Did you just watch it until you couldn't stand it anymore?" she asked.

"What?" Carole said. "Oh. No, I'm not…I'm Kurt's stepmother."

Anna blinked. "Oh," she said. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have remembered."

"It's all right," Kurt said. He smiled at Anna, and Blaine's heart melted in his chest. "My mother passed away when I was eight. My dad and Carole got married two months ago."

"Hey, do you know what we should do?" Francey said, tearing off a bit of her roll and popping it into her mouth. "We should have Namesake Movie Day. Dirty Dancing for me, Pretty in Pink for Blaine, and Sound of Music for Kurt."

"Hey, what about me?" Finn said.

"Well, were you named after anything?" Francey inquired.

Finn looked at his mother. Carole shrugged. "I just liked the name Finn," she said.

Finn frowned. "Fine," Francey sighed. "We'll watch…I don't know, an episode of Law and Order: SVU for you." Finn brightened.

Blaine glanced at Kurt and shrugged, as if to say _look at our crazy families. _Kurt smiled back. _I don't mind, _he mouthed.

At least their crazy families seemed to be getting along. The moms were comparing recipes and Christmas traditions; the dads were avidly discussing football. Even Finn and Francey were deep in conversation. Something video game related, from the sounds of it.

Blaine watched Kurt pick aimlessly at his dinner. He leaned closer, tucking his chin on Kurt's shoulder. "I thought you said you were going to eat," he whispered in Kurt's ear.

Kurt looked down. "I am," he whispered back.

Blaine slipped an arm around Kurt's waist, tugging him a little closer. "Either you eat some more, or I'm going to have to feed you myself," he said.

Kurt poked him lightly in the ribs. "You wouldn't dare," he said.

Blaine scooped up a bite of cranberry jelly off his plate and waved his fork playfully in front of Kurt. "Wouldn't I?" he said.

Kurt opened his mouth obediently. Blaine fed him a bite, smiling a little foolishly.

"Oh, look at how cute the boys are," Francey cooed, resting her chin on her hands.

"No one's paying any attention to you, Francey," Blaine said, wiping at Kurt's bottom lip with his thumb.

"What else is new?" Francey said. "No wonder I act out. I just want people to notice me." Blaine rolled his eyes and nudged Kurt's fork a little closer to his hand.

"Fine," Kurt huffed. "I'll eat some more."

"Hurry, before Finn eats it all," Blaine said, nodding towards Finn, who was shoveling food in his mouth like it was going out of style.

By the time they finished dinner, Blaine had made sure Kurt had eaten most of what was on his plate, although Kurt didn't seem terribly happy about being watched like a hawk. Finn slumped back in his chair, a pleased, dopey grin pasted across his face. "That was awesome," he sighed.

"Seconded," said Francey, who was also leaning back in her chair.

"Everything was wonderful, Carole," Anna said.

"Oh, thank you," Carole said. "I'm afraid dessert won't be quite as exciting, but it'll still be pretty good, I think."

"I was going to make it, but yesterday wasn't such a good day for me," Kurt said nonchalantly.

The calm in Kurt's voice made his chest tighten a little. _He didn't say anything about that yesterday, _he thought.

He reached under the table to take Kurt's hand. "Do you want me to help you?" he asked. "I mean, I know I'm not as good at making stuff as you are, but you can at least tell me what to do."

Kurt grinned. "So you're giving me permission to boss you around?" he said.

Blaine grinned back. "Basically," he said.

"Ooh, Finn and I want to help!" Francey said.

Finn blinked. "Wait, we do?" he said.

"Of course we do," Francey said.

"Well, if you kids want to do it, I suppose I can hand over the kitchen," Carole said. "As long as you help me clear the table." She frowned as Kurt started to stand up. "No, no, no. Not you. Stay there."

Blaine kept holding Kurt's hand as everyone else cleared the dishes and chatted. Kurt's lips were pressed together, and he stared down at the table as if he wished he could bore a hole in it. Blaine sidled closer. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing," Kurt mumbled.

Blaine squeezed his hand lightly. The stitches had been removed, but there was still a raised pink line across the back of his hand. "Look, I know you're upset that things can't just go back to normal just like that, but it's going to take a while," he whispered in Kurt's ear. He kissed him lightly on the temple. "But you'll get better. I'll make sure of it."

Kurt smiled a little at that, turning slightly to drop his forehead against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine kissed the top of his head.

Francey stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Boys, are you coming?" she asked. "Because I don't know about you, but I want to make some shit."

"Coming, Frances," Blaine said. He stood up and offered his hands to Kurt, helping him to his feet. Kurt seemed to be walking a little easier, and his heart unclenched a little.

Finn stood in the middle of the kitchen, fumbling with the ties of a white "kiss the cook" apron. "So what are we making?" he asked.

"Oreo cheesecake," Kurt said. Blaine pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and made him sit down. "It's a little unorthodox for Christmas, but it's tradition for the Hummels."

"I like that tradition," Carole said. She turned Finn around and tied the waist ties of his apron for him. "All right, kids. All of us adults will be in the dining room if you need us. Don't break anything, don't burn the house down."

"We'll try," Francey said cheerfully. "I mean, try not to do that…"

Carole tapped Kurt's chin lightly. "Your meds for tonight are in the kitchen cabinet," she reminded him.

"Thanks, Carole," he said. She gave him one last affectionate shoulder squeeze, then left the kitchen.

Francey cracked her knuckles. "So what should we start with?" she asked.

"Preheat the oven, for starters," Kurt said. "350, please."

Blaine leaned against the kitchen counter and grinned as Kurt assigned roles to Finn and Francey, who struggled to obey. "What about me?" he asked.

Kurt beckoned to Finn. "Bring me Oreos," he commanded.

Blaine laughed. "You're so bossy," he said.

"I'm not bossy, I just know what I want," Kurt said. He took the blue and white package from Finn and handed it to Blaine. "Now crush these."

"Yes, sir," Blaine quipped.

He sat down beside Kurt and started into his task. While it was sort of boring to shove the cookies in a plastic bag and attempt to crunch them up, time seemed to pass quickly. He and Kurt cracked jokes at Finn's expense as he struggled to beat cream cheese in the yellow mixer, and they traded barbs with Francey as she defended Finn's lack of kitchen knowledge. Kurt laughed more often than he had heard him laugh in the past week, and Blaine's heart finally stopped twisting in his chest.

At long last, Francey shoved the cheesecake in the oven and slammed the door. "There," she sighed. "I hope you're happy, Kurt. I'm exhausted."

"Well, maybe if you knew how to actually use a mixer, this would have gone better," Kurt said sweetly.

Finn gingerly flexed his right hand. "My fingers hurt," he complained.

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't have stuck your hand in the bowl while the beaters were going," Blaine said.

"How was I supposed to know my hand could get stuck?" Finn said. He looked Francey up and down. "And how did you manage to stay so clean?"

Francey glanced down at her perfect outfit, then plucked a fragment of eggshell off of Finn's ear. "Because I'm awesome," she said. "Okay, I guess Finn and I get to clean."

"Why can't Kurt and Blaine help?" Finn protested.

"Because Kurt will probably fall over," Francey said. "Babbie, go make googly eyes at Kurt somewhere else. Hudson, to the dishes!"

"Don't call me that," Blaine said. "And I do _not _make googly eyes at Kurt."

Francey smirked. "Yes, you do," she said. "You practically look like a Muppet."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Come on, Kurt, let's leave them to their own devices," he said.

"Wait!" Kurt said. "Is the timer set? You can't let it overbake. And as soon as it comes out, you have to let it cool, and then when the pan isn't too hot, you have to put it in the freezer, and then-"

"We've got it, we've got it," Francey said. "For fuck's sake, I am twenty years old. I think I can handle a little cheesecake."

Kurt braced his hands on the table and pushed himself up. Without thinking, Blaine reached for him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Kurt blinked at him, his hands pressing lightly against his chest.

Finn coughed. "You guys gonna make out on the table or something? Because, I mean, we could leave…"

"Finn, you're not getting out of washing the dishes," Kurt said sweetly. He turned slightly in Blaine's arms, tugging away just a little from his grasp. "We'll be in the living room if you need us."

"And we will be here, avoiding the living room while you make out," Francey said.

Blaine tucked his arm around Kurt's slender waist. "I'm ignoring you, Frances," he said.

Kurt laughed. "She really knows how to push your buttons, doesn't she?" he said as he sank down on the couch.

"Not only does she know of my buttons, she pushes them often," Blaine sighed. He sat down beside Kurt and tugged the plaid blanket around both of them. "That's what you get with a sibling, as I'm sure you're finding out."

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder. "It's interesting, to say the least," he said. "I've been an only child for sixteen years and so has he, so it's a little strange for both of us."

Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair back from his forehead. "You'll adjust," he said.

Kurt sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. "It seems like that's all I can do," he said. "Adjust. Adjust to everything." He tightened his arms around himself. "I just want things to be normal."

Blaine moved a little closer, tugging Kurt's thin legs over his lap. "Everything's going to be okay," he reassured him. "Listen, it's Christmas. Try not to make yourself so sad, all right?"

He rubbed his thumb lightly against the curve of Kurt's jaw line, and Kurt rewarded him with a slight smile. "I'll try," he said.

Blaine kissed him on the forehead. "I love it when you smile," he said softly.

"Really?" Kurt said, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Really," Blaine said. He rubbed his cheek lightly against Kurt's and kissed him on the temple. "I mean, when it's your real smile."

"What's the difference?" Kurt asked, his voice quiet and slightly breathless.

Blaine smiled at him. "When you smile and you mean it, your eyes squinch up in the corners," he said. "And you blush a little, and you get…you get this cute dimple on your cheek."

Kurt's smile widened. "You like my dimple?" he asked.

Blaine leaned close to Kurt's ear. "I've always had a thing for dimples," he whispered.

He kissed the top of Kurt's ear lightly before drawing back. Kurt smiled at him, his eyes brilliant blue and dancing. Blaine cupped his cheek in his hand, smiling back. The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree cast soft points of light around them, reflecting brightly in Kurt's eyes. He twined his arm under the small of Kurt's back, pulling him gently against him until he was nearly sitting in his lap.

Blaine kissed him on the forehead; Kurt closed his eyes briefly at the gentle touch, his soft lashes fanning against his cheeks. The skin around his eyes was thin, nearly translucent, showing delicate lines of veins amidst the nearly-gone bruising. Blaine touched his lips to the corner of Kurt's faded black eye.

He could stay like this all day, one arm tucked around Kurt's waist, his lips touching his soft skin, breathing in the light scent of soap and aloe and faint cologne that clung to him. He was sure of it.

Blaine kissed the tip of Kurt's nose, lightly and playfully. He could see the faint marks of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his smile deepened.

He kissed him on the cheek, this time lingering just a little. Kurt said nothing and held still, his breathing quick and steady, his lips slightly parted, his eyes trained on Blaine's. Blaine kissed his cheek again, this time right over his dimple. Kurt tilted his cheek towards him, as if he was waiting, as if he was offering himself.

Blaine kissed the corner of Kurt's mouth. He could feel Kurt's breath, soft and warm and faint against his cheek. Carefully he slid his other arm around Kurt's waist, pulling him even closer. Kurt pressed his hands lightly to Blaine's chest, the feel of his fingertips faint and teasing as he turned closer to Blaine, his eyes half-shut, his lips softly parted. He was waiting, he knew.

And Blaine closed his eyes and kissed him.

Kurt's lips were soft and warm against his. Blaine felt his slender hands clutch the front of his shirt, and he gentled his grasp, cradling Kurt to his chest as he kissed him. He could feel the tips of Kurt's lashes brushing his cheek, the gentle curve of his neck as he tilted his head to the side, the soft sigh into his mouth.

Blaine moved his lips softly against Kurt's, deepening the kiss a little, just a little. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his own ears and Kurt's tiny, quiet, contented sigh of happiness. His heart thumped so strongly he thought it might break, bursting out of the sudden love that he didn't realize he could feel so strongly.

He drew back gently, slowly, one hand moving to cradle the back of Kurt's neck. Kurt's eyelashes fluttered open, a dazed, content smile playing at his lips. "Well?" Blaine whispered. "Did that count?"

Kurt cupped Blaine's cheek. "That counted," he whispered back

"Was it, uh…was it…"

"It was good," Kurt said. He bit his lip and giggled a little, actually giggled, touching his forehead to Blaine's. "It was perfect."

"It was your first kiss, that's a lot of pressure," Blaine said. He kissed the tip of Kurt's nose. "Want to try for a second kiss?"

Kurt leaned in, his lips just millimeters away from Blaine's. Blaine pulled him in tighter.

"Hey, boys, the cheesecake's cooling and we thought we'd watch a Christmas movie," Anna said, stepping out of the dining room.

Blaine pulled back. "Oh, uh, sure, Mom," he stammered.

Anna gave him a knowing look. "We'll join you in a few minutes," she said. "Pick out a good movie."

"We will, Mom," Blaine said.

Anna stepped out. Blaine sighed and tugged Kurt closer. Kurt placed his fingertip lightly on Blaine's lips. "Nah-uh-uh," he whispered playfully. He slid his fingertip against Blaine's full lower lip, gently pulling it down. "I get to pick our next kiss."

"But…but I…" Blaine stammered.

Kurt laughed and kissed him cheek. "It'll be a nice surprise," he said.

Blaine tried to move back in to kiss him, but Francey plunked down on his other side. "So, you kids make any gay babies yet?" she asked.

"Don't want to think about that," Finn said, flopping on the floor in front of them. He tipped his head back against Kurt's hip. "Cheesecake's cooling. I don't think it's ruined."

"Good job," Kurt said, one corner of his mouth tugging up.

The parents walked back into the living room. "You kids pick out a movie yet?" Burt asked.

"Please, please, _please, _can it be A Christmas Story?" Francey pleaded. "I want to see the kid get his tongue stuck to a pole."

"Sounds good to me," Finn shrugged.

Carole sorted through the DVDs on the shelf. Burt clapped his hand on Kurt's good shoulder. "How're you feeling, kiddo? Need your pain meds?" he asked.

Kurt tilted his head back. "I feel pretty good, Dad," he said, smiling. Blaine felt Kurt squeeze his arm under the blanket. "Blaine's been taking care of me."

Burt glanced quickly from his son to Blaine. "Well, good," he said. He put his hand on Kurt's forehead and brushed his hair back. "You let me know if you need anything. And if you need to go to bed, you go to bed, all right?"

"I will," Kurt said patiently.

Carole put the DVD in the player and turned it on. Blaine massaged Kurt's knees absently as the movie started. Kurt sighed and cuddled against the arm of the couch, his legs still draped over Blaine's knees. Francey snuggled against Blaine's other side, her head resting on his shoulder. Finn rested his head against the back of the couch, and Kurt idly patted the top of his head.

It was odd how comfortable this was. And usually he wasn't very fond of anything touchy-feely (a fact his sister loved to exploit). But this was different. He held Kurt under the blanket, one arm around his waist and the other resting on his knees, and his heart kept thumping against his ribcage in quick, steady beats.

The movie was funny, but he'd seen it several times before. All he could think about was Kurt pressed up against him, and he was honestly surprised (and a little disappointed) when the credits started rolling.

Francey scrambled off the couch, slapping Finn on the shoulder. "Cheesecake time!" she said. "C'mon. Let's go."

Finn unfolded himself from the floor. "Fine, fine, just stop hitting me," he said.

"Finn, honey, can you get Kurt's medicine for him?" Carole asked.

"Uh-huh," Finn said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. Blaine squeezed his kneecap. "You can stop staring at my lips," Kurt whispered.

"Can't help it," Blaine whispered back. "I want to kiss you again."

Kurt gave a happy little shiver, tucking his cheek against his shoulder. Blaine kissed the top of his head. "Oh, look, here's some cheesecake," Francey said, shoving the plate into Blaine's hands.

Blaine leaned back. "Thanks, Fran," he said.

"Here you go, Kurt," Finn said, holding out several pills and a glass. Kurt sighed and took his medication, popping each pill one by one; he handed the empty glass back to Finn in exchange for a plate with a hefty slice of cheesecake.

The two families sat under the lights of the Christmas tree for quite a while, talking and laughing. Finn and Francey had a contest to see who could eat the most cheesecake, and Kurt just cuddled on Blaine's lap. Blaine mostly kept his attention limited to Kurt and his cheesecake, although he could see Burt occasionally shooting suspicious glances in their direction.

Jack glanced down at his watch. "It's past eleven," he said. "We'd better go. It's a long drive back."

Blaine glanced at Kurt. "Don't look at me like that," Kurt said playfully, his lips close to Blaine's ear. "Don't worry, you'll get your kiss."

Blaine reluctantly slid Kurt's legs to the floor and stood up. "I'd better get it," he said, bending over and brushing his lips against Kurt's forehead.

"All right, all right, enough with the touchy-feely shit," Francey said, thrusting Blaine's coat into his hands. "We've got to go."

Blaine slid his coat on and draped his scarf around his neck. He tried to turn back to Kurt, but he found himself bidding goodbye to Kurt's parents and brother instead. Carole hugged him tightly and Finn gave him a friendly shoulder punch. Burt shook his hand, but it felt like he was gripping just a little too tightly, and he was staring at him a little too closely.

Before he quite knew what was going on, he found himself standing on the front porch, heading towards the car, his heart sinking. "Come by any time," Carole was saying to his mother.

"Finn, my Xbox live handle is babyinthecorner," Francey said. "I'll request you tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll look for it," Finn said.

Blaine stuffed his hands in his pockets, sorely disappointed. He turned towards the car, following his father.

"Blaine, wait a minute!"

He paused. Kurt stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. "What are you doing?" Blaine said, running back up the stairs. "You're going to freeze to death."

Carole glanced at her son and husband and tugged them away from the porch. Anna took Francey by the elbow and dragged her towards the car.

Blaine put his hands on Kurt's hips. "Seriously, Kurt, you're going to freeze," he said. "You don't even have shoes on."

"I'll be fine," Kurt said. He slid his arms around Blaine's neck, drawing him closer. "This won't take long."

Blaine's heart skipped a beat as Kurt leaned in and pressed his lips softly against his, warm and firm and smooth. Kurt laced his fingers together and tilted towards him. Blaine gripped his hips tightly, his head spinning.

Kurt pulled back. "There," he said. "That was our second kiss."

"How about a third?" Blaine said breathlessly. Kurt smiled and leaned towards him.

The horn on the family SUV sounded at the same time the porch lights flickered. They both took a step back, laughing. "You'd better go," Kurt said. He trailed his hands over Blaine's shoulders. "Will I see you soon?"

"Definitely," Blaine said. He took a step back, then paused and dug his hand through his coat pocket. "Oh. I almost forgot. This is for you."

He placed the small box in Kurt's hands. Kurt blinked. "But you didn't have to-"

Blaine kissed him swiftly on the lips. "I wanted to," he said. He smoothed his thumb against his cheek. "Now go inside where it's warm, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," Blaine said. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He slid his hands back in his pockets and took the porch steps two at a time, whistling under his breath until he climbed into the back seat of the SUV. Francey sighed heavily. "Mom says I have to apologize for honking the horn at you two," she said.

"Oh, it's fine, it's fine," Blaine said, locking his seatbelt.

He settled back into the seat as they drove down the street, headed for home. His father turned on a Christmas CD, and Blaine leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, sighing as they drove by houses decked out in Christmas lights.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pants pocket. He smiled so brightly at the picture message that it felt like his face might split in two. Kurt had sent a photograph of himself, his eyes shining, with the present Blaine had given him around his neck.

Blaine leaned back against the seat, beaming. It wasn't really that fancy- just a little white gold ring with "courage" engraved on the inside, hanging on a white gold chain- but he had hoped that Kurt would like it And apparently, he did.

His phone buzzed again and he glanced down at the text.

_First kiss, eh?_

He glanced over at his sister and frowned. "We're sitting right next to each other," he whispered. Francey shrugged and turned her attention back to her phone. His phone buzzed.

_I like him._

Blaine smiled and sent her a reply.

_Me, too._

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**

This might be my favorite chapter so far.

THEY KISSED, YOU GUYS. THEY TOTALLY KISSED. So happy. Now they can kiss ALL THE TIME. Well, within the bounds of this story, at least.

And now Finn and Francey have met and begun their epic friendship. There's actually someone who told me they ship Finn/Francey. I find this to be AWESOME.

I'm so happy right now.

Also, I want Oreo cheesecake.

I'm so glad I mad the decision to include some lighthearted chapters in this story. I mean, it's not like "oh look everything is perfect now!" but at least Kurt is happy.

Two more happy fluff chapters...and then we get back to the angst.

Let me know what you think! Did you like the first kiss? Did it meet your expectations? Is it the summation of all your Klaine-related hopes and dreams?


	17. Intermission: Part III

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Written as a collaboration with psychopiratess.

* * *

"Blaine."

He grunted.

"Blaine."

He curled up in a ball, pulling the blankets over his head.

"Babbie."

The bed shifted as someone crawled onto the bed beside him.

"Good morning, Babbie."

He grunted again, louder this time, but his sister, not to be dissuaded, scooted closer and twined a curl around her finger.

"Good morning, Babbie sunshine," she singsonged. "Good morning, Babbie sunshine."

He pulled the covers down just enough to glare at his sister. Francey's nose was inches away from his. "Ge' th' he' out," he croaked, tugging his blankets away from her.

"No, no, no, you have to get up," she said, nuzzling his ear. "You have to get up and love me."

He picked up a pillow sleepily and bopped her on the head. She bit his ear. "No, I'm serious, you have to love me," she said. "So you know how Mom and Dad decided to not do the New Year's Eve party this year and drive up to Pennsylvania to see Pop-Pop and Mamaw?"

"Yeah," he said groggily into his pillow. "They left yes'day."

"Yes, well, ever since yesterday I've been trying to convince them that we should have a party instead, and they finally said yes," Francey grinned.

Blaine rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. "And I'm supposed to love you why?" he mumbled.

Francey sat up and crossed her legs, leaning back on her hands. "Because I called Kurt's parents and sweet-talked them into letting Kurt come," she said. "They asked Kurt, he said he wanted to come, and they gave their permission."

Blaine bolted upright. "Are you serious?" he said.

Francey grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Have I mentioned that it's a sleepover party?" she said.

Blaine stared at her for a second, then flung his arms around her neck. "Oh my god, I love you right now," he said.

"What, you mean you don't love me consistently?" she said. She laughed and ruffled his wild curls. "You'd better get up, Babbie. There's like fifteen people coming over at seven, and you have a shit-ton of cleaning to do."

"What do you mean, _I _have a shit-ton of cleaning?" Blaine frowned.

Francey slid off the bed. "I'm going grocery shopping," she said.

"Oh, no," Blaine said, scrambling off the bed. "Oh, no, you're not. I don't trust you with anything food-related."

"Oh, come on, I've picked out a _fabulous _menu," she said.

"I doubt that," he called.

The last day of the year passed by in a flurry of cleaning, organizing and three trips to the grocery store (Blaine blamed Francey; Francey blamed her inability to write things down properly). Before long it was six-thirty and someone was ringing the doorbell.

Blaine closed the refrigerator door. "Francey, get that!" he called.

"Can't, I'm upstairs," she called back. "Besides, don't you want to say hi to your boyfriend yourself?"

Blaine tilted his head, then ran for the foyer. He paused long enough to straighten his clothes and smooth down his hair, then opened the front door. "Hi," he said, somewhat breathless.

"Hey, Blaine," Finn said. He had two bags slung across his shoulder, a battered backpack and a bright red duffel, and his other arm was tight around Kurt's shoulders. "Sorry, we're a little early."

"No, no, it's fine," Blaine said, his eyes locked on Kurt. "Hi."

"Hi," Kurt said. His skin was pale, but he was smiling. Blaine took both of his hands and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Finn cleared his throat. "Can, uh, we come in?" he asked, shifting his weight awkwardly. "It's kind of cold out."

"Oh, sure, yeah," Blaine said, opening the door wider. Finn helped Kurt inside. A little pang shot through Blaine's heart at the sight of Kurt walking so stiffly, leaning heavily on Finn's support. "You can, um, if you want to lie down on the couch…"

Finn half-carried Kurt over to the sofa, dropping his bags to the floor. Kurt fumbled for the buttons of his coat and shrugged carefully out of the sleeves. Blaine caught the slight twist of his mouth as his bad shoulder turned.

"Where can I put these?" Finn asked, nodding towards the bags.

"Oh, we can just put them in my dad's library, I guess," Blaine said.

Finn hoisted them. "Show me?" he said.

Blaine frowned and headed down the hall. Finn glanced back over his shoulder, then leaned in close to Blaine. "Listen, Kurt's having a bad day," he whispered. "He tried to hide it so Burt wouldn't tell him to stay home, but he slept the whole way here and was really restless and stuff."

Blaine blinked. "What should we do?" he asked. "Should we…should we make him go to bed or something?"

Finn set the bags down by the comfy leather armchair in the corner and shrugged. "He won't listen," he said. "Believe me. We've tried. He doesn't listen to us. The best we can do is make sure he's not pushing himself too hard and that he's taking all of his meds." He sighed heavily. "Maybe he'll listen to you."

Blaine slid his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "I'll…I'll try," he said.

Finn offered him a slight lopsided smile. "It's the best anybody can do right now," he said, heading back towards the living room. Blaine took a deep breath and followed him.

"Hi," he said, smiling at Kurt.

Kurt tilted his head back. "I believe we covered the pleasantries," he said. Blaine sat down on the arm of the couch and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "That's better."

Blaine touched his forehead to Kurt's. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "A glass of water, something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine," Kurt said, almost too quickly. "Do you need help with anything? I can help you cook things if you'd like."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "No," he said. "No, I'm…I think things are pretty good at the moment."

"What the hell, Kurt, you really want to go over to someone else's house and do all their cooking?" Francey said as she breezed through the living room. She paused long enough to kiss the top of Kurt's head, slap Finn on the hip, and ruffle Blaine's hair. "Seriously. No. We've got it covered."

Kurt shrugged. "I just like cooking," he said.

"Well, we've got mostly just snack stuff. We're ordering pizza later," Blaine said. He squeezed Kurt's good shoulder lightly. "I should have asked you first. Is that okay? I can make something else for you to eat if you want."

"No, it's fine," Kurt said.

Finn squinted at his cell phone screen. "Hey, you should probably take your meds soon," he said.

Blaine didn't miss the look that flashed across Kurt's face, a combination of anger and frustration. "Well, just tell me whenever you're ready," he said nonchalantly to Kurt "I'll tell you where we keep the glasses so you can get something to drink."

Kurt seemed to relax at that, just a little bit, and Finn was distracted by the doorbell ringing again. "I'll get it this time!" Francey hollered.

"It's probably Rachel," Finn said, perking up.

"Who's all coming?" Kurt asked.

Blaine leaned back against the arm of the couch. "I really don't know," he said. "I just woke this morning and Francey announced we were having a party. She could've invited half the town for all I know."

Francey strolled back into the living room. "I'll have you know that I did not invite half the town," she said. "I considered it, but I didn't." She stepped back. "Look who's here."

Kurt straightened up. "Wes," he said, stricken. "David. I…um…hi."

The two Warblers stood on either side of Francey, looking slightly out-of-place and unfamiliar out of their school uniforms. They both held matching duffel bags in Dalton colors. "Hello, Kurt," Wes said formally. "How are you…how are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you," Kurt said, quiet and polite.

David sighed heavily and set down his duffel bag. "All right, this is awkward," he said. He put his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "We've all been worried about you. All of us Warblers. It's not the same without you."

Kurt blinked, his eyelashes dark against his pale skin. "Oh," he said. "Well, thank you for…being concerned."

"I'm really sorry it happened," David said. "You didn't deserve it."

Kurt just looked down at his knees.

"The girls send their love," Wes said quietly. "Jo and Lucy. They've been so worried about you. Lucy was devastated."

"I'll give her a call at some point, I suppose," Kurt said.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment until, thankfully, the doorbell rang. Francey slipped out of the room to answer it and returned with a beaming, bouncing Rachel with a bright pink tote bag swinging from her hand.

"I've arrived!" she announced cheerfully. "I brought all the proper requirements for a sleepover. Vegan sugar cookies, nail polish, and my entire Barbra Streisand DVD collection."

Finn wrinkled his nose as Rachel dropped a hello kiss on his cheek. "No offense, but that sounds pretty boring," he said.

"Seconded," Francey said. "I vote for Rock Band, pizza, and strip poker."

"I vote against the strip poker," Blaine said dryly.

Rachel looked Francey up and down, frowning. "Who are you again?" she inquired.

Francey stuck out her hand. "Francey, Blaine's sister," she said. "And you are overbearing with minimal social skills, correct?"

Rachel's frown deepened. "My name is Rachel Berry," she said.

"Ah, then I'm right," Francey said. "I've heard about you."

"Mostly good things," Kurt said. "But only mostly."

Blaine looked down at Kurt. He was smiling a bit at his own sarcastic quip, but even that hint of a smile couldn't belie how pale and drawn he looked. Blaine sidled a little closer as the doorbell rang again and Francey left to answer it.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning close to Kurt's ear. "You'll tell me if you're not feeling good, right?"

Kurt hesitated, then nodded slightly. Blaine kissed him right above the ear.

Before long the house was packed with the twelve members of New Directions, three Warblers, Francey, and Kurt. The noise levels quickly reached nearly unmanageable levels, and before long Kurt rested his head on Blaine's knee, as if he was trying to hide from the sound. Blaine stroked his hair gently.

Francey glanced over at him; he shrugged. She plunged her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle, effectively silencing the crowd.

"Okay, you have got to teach me that," Lauren said.

"And I shall," Francey said. "But right now I think we need some organization to our chaos. Rock Band, anyone?"

Puck and Sam nearly fell over themselves to get to the entertainment center as Francey whipped open the console doors, revealing the instrument controllers. "Drums!" Finn called, scrambling up from the floor and nearly stepping on Rachel. "I call drums."

"Finn, you've got to share the drums at some point," Tina said, shaking her head.

"Vocals!" Wes called. "I'll take vocals if no one else wants them."

Santana snatched a controller from Sam's hands. "I'm playing bass," she declared. "Just try and stop me."

"Oh _hell _no," Artie said, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe we should come up with a rotation system," Rachel offered helpfully.

"How will spinning in circles help us play?" Brittany inquired. Without waiting for an answer she sat down beside Kurt. "Do you want one? If you tell me what you want, I'll make the boys give it to you."

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder. "No, I'm fine," he said.

"You sure?" Mercedes said as she glanced back from the television screen. "You can sing if you want. You can lie on the couch for that."

Kurt stared straight ahead. "I don't really feel like singing," he said quietly.

Blaine opened his mouth, then closed it. That one quiet sentence made his heart ache much more than it should. He looked up to see Mercedes staring at him, startled.

"Blaine, how does this damn thing work again?" Francey asked, waving an Xbox controller.

Puck took it from her. "Here, sweet thing, I got this," he said.

Lauren elbowed him. "Well, you just forfeited an evening of Breadstix and over-the-clothes fondling," she said, and Sam laughed. Puck smacked him.

Everything blended back into the same easy, noisy camaraderie. Blaine slid an arm around Kurt's waist; Kurt leaned his head back against his chest and closed his eyes.

One of the perks of playing Rock Band with a group of musically inclined people was that everything, for the most part, actually sounded good. Santana nailed the vocals for Alanis Morisette's "You Oughta Know" and Finn managed to not fail the drum part for La Roux's "Bulletproof." Puck only allowed Rachel to sing for "Don't Stop Believin'" if she agreed to sing the full playlist, and the tension in Blaine's chest dissipated a little as Kurt laughed along with everyone else as the petite brunette stumbled through a Beastie Boys number.

They were halfway through their fourth setlist when Mercedes plunked down beside Kurt, startling both boys. "So," she said, crossing her arms. "What's all this?"

"All of what?" Kurt inquired, cocking his head to the side.

She waved her hand in their direction. "This," she said. "The snuggling, the whispering, the longing looks…"

"We're not exchanging longing looks," Blaine said, looking at Kurt to back him up.

Kurt tilted his head back to look at him. "You are sort of pining," he said.

Mercedes' eyebrows shot up. "Wait, are you serious?" she said. "Are you guys…" She whipped around to glare at Kurt. "You kissed him, didn't you?"

"To be fair, he kissed me first," Kurt said.

A smug smile spread across her face. "Damn, boy," Mercedes grinned. "Good for you." She scooted closer. "Are you gonna tell me the details?"

"Uh," Blaine stammered. "Uh…well…"

"Blaine, are you going to take a turn singing?" David asked, turning the microphone around in his fingers. "I've never seen you turn down a solo before. Come on, it's Rush, it's your favorite."

Kurt smiled and patted Blaine's knee. "Go on and sing," he said. "I'll be fine. I owe Mercedes the whole story, anyway. Don't worry, I'll say nice things about you."

"Well, if you put it that way," Blaine said, sliding off the arm of the couch. Without thinking he bent and kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek.

"Aw, how cute," Mercedes grinned. Ears rapidly turning red, Blaine took the mic from David and focused on the television screen.

He was halfway through the setlist when he dared to look back at Kurt. Kurt was sitting close to Mercedes, his legs drawn over her knees, and he seemed to be in the middle of telling a story to her. His cheeks were flushed pink in his white face, and his eyes looked bright blue. Blaine smiled at the sight.

"Anderson! Stop making moony eyes at Kurt and sing!" Wes ordered.

"This isn't rehearsal! You can't boss me around!" Blaine protested, but he turned back around and launched into the song as his ears turned red again.

He finished out the setlist and retreated to the safety of the couch, although Mercedes didn't bother to make room for him, forcing him to settle for the arm once again. "Kurt told me everything," she said, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Don't worry, we have the best friend stamp of approval," Kurt said, waving his hand.

"For now," Mercedes warned. "You break his heart, I break your legs, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine grinned. "And trust me, Kurt, the same goes for you. My sister can be very vicious."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Kurt said, grinning right back at him.

"Okay, y'all, if you don't stop making eyes at each other, I'm going to puke," Mercedes informed them.

Francey sauntered over to them and sat down on Blaine's knee. "Oh, god, Fran, get off me," Blaine groaned.

"So I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Francey said, cheerfully ignoring Blaine's efforts to push her off his lap. "Dinner should be here pretty soon. Are you hungry, Kurt?"

"I suppose," he said.

"Seriously, Frances, get off me," Blaine grunted, pushing at her hips.

She planted her feet more firmly on the ground and petted Kurt's hair. "Really, baby, how are you feeling?" she asked. "I'm not pre-med for nothing."

"I'm fine," he said, his lips pressing together.

Blaine shoved Francey off his lap, nearly pushing her into the coffee table. "Frances, you have got to lay off the cupcakes," he said.

"Well, Zachary, I would, but they are delicious," she said, sticking her nose in the air. "Now I'm going to sit by the door, so that when the bell rings I can steal all the Hawaiian pizza before you can get to it."

"Ha!" Blaine said. "I ordered the pizza, and you don't know which door I told them to come to."

Francey narrowed her gaze. "Well played, sir," she said. "Well played." She ruffled Blaine's curls and flounced back into the thick of the crowd.

Puck stood up, holding up the microphone. "Hey, Kurt, you want it?" he called.

Blaine felt Kurt stiffen. "No, thank you," he said quietly.

Puck raised an eyebrow and pushed through the crowd towards him. "You sure?" he said, thrusting the mic in Kurt's face. "Dude, we'll let you pick the whole setlist. Any songs you want."

"I appreciate it, Noah, but no, thank you," Kurt repeated, his voice softer still.

The look on Puck's face was almost pathetic in his earnestness. Kurt looked down, his shoulders slumping. Puck opened his mouth to say something, then clamped his lips together and walked away. Kurt let out a quiet, shuddering breath.

Blaine slid off the arm of the couch and pulled Kurt to his side. "Hey," he whispered, trying to coax Kurt into looking at him. He kissed him on the cheek. "Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Kurt shrugged, silent but clearly unhappy. Blaine stroked his fingertips lightly up and down Kurt's back, feeling the lumps of his spine through his thick cardigan. They sat together in silence, watching everyone else play.

The doorbell chimed noisily, cutting into Tina's rendition of "I'm So Sick" by Flyleaf. Sam perked up. "Oh, sweet, the pizza's here!" he said, dropping his bass and running for the front door.

Blaine started to get up, but Francey patted him on the top of the head as she walked by. "Don't worry, I've got this," she said. "Stay where you are."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Blaine said. Kurt smiled a little at that, his lips still thin and tense.

Sam and Puck helped Francey carry in the pizza boxes while the girls set out the paper plates and plastic cups. In the midst of the organized chaos, Blaine didn't notice Finn slip away until suddenly the lanky boy was sitting on the arm of the couch with several orange pill bottles concealed in his hand.

"Hey, Kurt," Finn said softly. "I know you hate it, but you've got to take 'em."

"Finn, I don't need you to babysit me," Kurt said, his voice clipped and tight.

Finn ignored him and handed the bottles to Blaine. "I'll get him something to drink," he said, and walked away.

Blaine stared at the printed labels. "I can take care of myself," Kurt said through gritted teeth.

"Kurt, no one's questioning your abilities," Blaine said. "Finn got you your medicine. He was just trying to be helpful."

"I think he's perfectly capable of being helpful without the superior attitude," Kurt snapped.

Blaine frowned. "Kurt," he said. "Are you going to feel better after you take your medication?"

"I don't see why that excuses Finn for acting like he can boss me around," Kurt retorted.

"It's going to make you feel better," Blaine said flatly. "Just forget about Finn, okay?"

Finn walked over with a red plastic cup full of water in his hand. Kurt took it silently and took the pills that Blaine handed him one at a time. He avoided eye contact with both of them, and when the cup was empty Finn took it back and walked away.

Kurt slid off the couch. "I'm going to get something to eat," he said.

Blaine buried his face in his hands and let out a frustrated sigh. _I don't know what to do, _he thought. _I just don't know what to do._

He watched as the others shifted a little to make room for Kurt at the kitchen table, loaded heavily with pizza boxes, soda bottles, and various junk food snacks. Mercedes forced a plate into his hands and he carefully picked up two slices of pizza. He brushed past her, picked up a cup, and filled with diet soda before cautiously making his way back to the living room and sitting awkwardly on the floor by the fireplace.

Blaine felt a gentle hand on the back of his neck. "Everything all right?" Francey asked, handing him a plate with several slices of pizza. Blaine sat up and shrugged; she tugged affectionately on his curls before sitting down beside Kurt.

The swarm of teenagers spilled over the floor and the furniture, talking and laughing noisily in between bites of pizza. "Oh my god, we haven't had a party in forever," Tina said. She dropped her slice of pizza on her plate and waved her hands in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god, remember what we did last time?"

"You mean when Lauren prank-called Jacob Ben Israel?" Mike asked.

"No, no, when we played truth or dare!" Tina said. "Oh my god, we should so play." She scooted onto her knees without waiting for an answer. "Sam! Sam! Truth or dare?"

Sam paused, a slice of pizza inches from his mouth. "Uh…dare, I guess," he said.

Tina clapped her hands. "Okay, I dare you to…to…" She paused, scanning the room. "I dare you to let Lauren give you a makeover. And then keep the makeup on for the rest of game.

Sam shrugged, his mouth full of supreme pizza. "Mmkay," he mumbled.

"You don't even have a clue what you've gotten yourself into, do you, trouty mouth?" Lauren smirked.

Sam slowly lowered his slice of pizza. "Can…can I switch to truth?" he asked meekly.

"Too late for that, guppy baby," Santana smirked, handing her makeup bag to Lauren.

Ten minutes later, Sam was bedecked in thick mascara, rainbow stripes of eyeshadow, large doll-like circles of blush, and his lips were painted a fetching shade of scarlet. The tightness in Blaine's throat lessened a little as he watched Kurt hide his laughter in Mercedes' shoulder. "Wh-what is this?" Sam said, staring in dismay at his reflection in the mirror a snickering Quinn held up for him.

"The lip color? Wet 'n' Wild in Tiger Orgasm," Santana said. "It's at the Walgreens by school if you want to pick a tube up for yourself."

"Dude, you look like a fish hooker!" Puck laughed.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna pee!" Mike howled.

Sam pushed the mirror back into Quinn's hand. "Can we just call it quits on this game?" he begged.

"Nope," Tina said cheerfully. "Pick someone. Not me, though, no tagbacks."

Sam closed his eyes, making the others laugh as the rainbow eyeshadow stuck out more clearly, and picked at random. "You," he said, opening his eyes. "You…Blaine's sister or whatever."

"Francey," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, Francey…truth or dare?" he asked.

"Let's go with truth," she said, lacing her fingers together and setting them on her knee.

Sam grinned. "What's the nerdiest thing you've ever done?" he asked.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Sam, you're still the biggest dork we have in glee," she said, a hint of affection belying her words. "You're not going to find anyone else who's nerdier than you."

Francey shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you already know the answer to this question, darling," she said.

Sam screwed up his face. "What?"

"Comic-Con. In 2009. You followed a girl cosplaying as Deanna Troi from Star Trek: Next Generation around the convention center for three hours until you finally got up the courage to ask to take your picture with her," Francey said.

Sam's mouth dropped open. "That was you?" he asked.

She grinned and held up her hand in a Vulcan salute. "Nobody can forget a mouth the size of yours," she said.

Artie laughed. "Oh, man, even when you try to find someone nerdier than you, you still lose," he said.

Sam leaned back against the fireplace and sulked. "Just move on to the next person so we can get this over with," he grumbled.

Francey tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. "I pick Kurt," she said. "Kurt, baby, truth or dare?"

He shrugged. "I'll go with truth, I guess," he said.

Francey smiled almost wickedly. "What's your most embarrassing childhood secret?" she asked.

Kurt shrugged again. "I don't know," he said. "I had a stuffed teddy bear when I was little. Does that count?"

"He slept with a pacifier until he was four," Finn offered.

Kurt whipped around, his ears turning red in embarrassment. "Finn!" he exclaimed.

"Are you serious?" Mercedes said. "That's adorable."

"It's not adorable, it's mortifying," Kurt said. He tugged on the hem of his shirt. "But it's fine, because you don't have any proof."

"Oh, I don't?" Finn asked. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his pictures. "Mom found a bunch of old pictures of you and your dad. I found this one."

He shoved the phone into Francey's hand; she immediately passed it off to Blaine. "See? Look how adorable your boyfriend is," she said.

Blaine looked down at the picture of a picture. Little Kurt, maybe three or four years old, was asleep in the middle of the living room floor, his hair ruffled and his tiny feet bare. A bright blue pacifier was tucked in his mouth. "He's cute," he said, glancing up to smile at Kurt.

Kurt ducked his head as Santana pulled the phone out of Blaine's hand to take a look. "My dad called it my mute button," he mumbled. "I don't see why you had to put in your phone, Finn Hudson."

Finn shrugged. "Your dad has pictures of you in his wallet and my mom has pictures of me," he said. "Seemed like it'd be fair if we kind of traded a couple." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Since, you know…we're brothers and stuff now."

Blaine watched Kurt's expression soften; the two brothers sort of smiled at each other while the rest of the group was distracted by Finn's phone getting passed around. _He's not going to be mad at Finn for much longer, _he thought. _Now, if I could just get him to stop sulking at me…_

Francey pinched Kurt's thin cheek. "Look at what a cute little rugrat you were," she cooed. "Precious. Just precious."

"Well, now that you've embarrassed me thoroughly, can we move on?" Kurt asked. Without waiting for a response he pointed to Puck. "Puckerman. Truth or dare?"

Puck glanced up. "Huh?"

"I'll take that as a dare," Kurt said. "I dare you to eat a spoonful of chili powder."

Much to Blaine's surprise, Puck obeyed, making everyone else laugh themselves to tears as he ate the spicy powder and immediately had to run to the refrigerator for milk. Puck got his revenge, though, when he demanded that a startled Wes should go flush his foot in the toilet. His protests were quelled only by a promise from Rachel that if he went through it, she would make sure that New Directions didn't do a Maroon 5 song for regionals, and he went through with the dare, hobbling back into the living room with one sock completely soaked. David pointed out through his hysterical laughter that he should have just taken the sock off; Wes retaliated by daring him to strip down to his boxers to whatever song came up first on his iPod. Much to his surprise, David gamely agreed, and did a nice routine to Aqua's "Barbie Girl" that had everyone in stitches.

"Oh, god, you have got to get that song off your iPod," David sighed, flopping down beside Blaine amidst the applause. "Your taste in music is awful."

"My taste in music is _awesome_," Wes sniffed. "Let's keep going. Pick somebody."

"Yeah, seriously, because I want to get this makeup off," Sam said. "Is…is lipstick supposed to burn like this?"

"Only the cheap stuff, baby," Lauren said.

David sighed. "Oh, I think Blaine needs a turn," he said. "Blaine, truth or dare?"

Blaine grinned. "The dares have been going pretty well so far, so let's go with a dare," he said.

David pulled his tee shirt back over his head. "I dare you…to sing something to Kurt," he said.

"Something sexy," Artie added.

"Yeah, make it sexy," Puck said. "I know there's some sex appeal in there somewhere, hobbit. Show us why Kurt picked you."

Blaine glanced over at Kurt, who had flushed beet red and covered his face with his hands. "Are you sure?" he ventured.

"Oh, go on, get it over with," Kurt said, his voice slightly muffled.

Mercedes dragged Kurt up to the couch beside Blaine. "Hold up, I gotta film this," she grinned.

Blaine looked at Kurt. Kurt dropped his hands and shrugged. "Finish your dare," he said.

He bit his lip. "Well, then," he said.

Kurt leaned back, arms folded across his thin chest, a smile that said _just try to seduce me_ playing across his lips. Blaine cleared his throat. "Well, then," he said again, painfully aware of all the eyes boring into him.

He folded his hands on his knees. "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know that something wasn't right here?" he started.

Sam wolf-whistled. "Britney Spears, I approve," Lauren said.

He turned towards Kurt. "Oh baby, baby, I shouldn't have let you go, and now you're out of sight, yeah," he sang.

Kurt's smile was a little like a smirk at this point, one finely sculpted brow arching skeptically. Blaine scooted onto his knees. "Show me how you want it to be, tell me, baby, 'cause I need to know, now, oh, because," he sang, rising over Kurt, who blinked in mild interest. "My loneliness is killing me and I, I must confess I still believe."

"Still believe," Wes and David chimed in, harmonizing perfectly.

Blaine grinned and leaned over Kurt, gently pushing him back against the arm of the couch. "When I'm not with you, I lose my mind," he crooned. "Give me a sign…hit me, baby, one more time."

"Lap dance! Lap dance!" Tina called.

Blaine grinned. "Lap dance, lap dance!" Brittany chanted, clapping her hands.

"I wanna see some hip rolls, hobbit," Santana commanded.

Kurt's head shot up. "Wait, you wouldn't-"

With one smooth motion Blaine swung his leg over Kurt's knees. "Oh baby, baby, the reason I breathe is you," he sang. "Boy, you've got me blinded."

Mercedes clapped her hands as Kurt covered his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red. Blaine sidled closer. "Oh baby, baby, I shouldn't have let you go," he cooed in Kurt's ear, crooking a finger under his palm and tugging his hand away. He leaned back, raising his arms as the small crowd hollered their approval. "And I must confess that my loneliness is killing me now. Don't you know I still believe that you would be here? Give me a sign…hit me, baby, one more time."

Kurt peeked at him through his fingers, a shy smile creeping across his face. Blaine grinned as he sang through the chorus one more time, sliding his hands on Kurt's thin waist. Their friends broke into wild applause as Blaine leaned in and pecked Kurt on the cheek. "So do you like me again now?" he whispered.

Kurt sighed and patted the seat beside him. Blaine grinned and immediately plunked down, slinging an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"All right, all right, enough of that," Francey said, waving her hand. "Let's keep it PG, children." She threw a couch pillow in her brother's face. "Blaine, it's your turn, pick somebody."

Blaine pulled Kurt a little closer. "Okay, okay," he said. "I pick…Sam."

"I've already gone, remember?" Sam said, pointing to his wildly made-up face.

"Oh, that's right," Blaine said. "Fine. I pick…Finn. Finn, truth or dare?"

"Let's go with truth," Finn said, stretching out his long legs as Rachel nestled into his side. "The dares are kinda scaring me right now."

"All right, then," Blaine said. "Then…if you had to date any of the guys in your glee club, who would you pick?"

"I don't know," Finn mused. "I mean…Puck and I are best friends, so that couldn't be that weird…"

Puck spewed a mouthful of Mountain Dew across the room. "No, dude, it would be weird," he said.

"Mike seems like a pretty good boyfriend, so, you know, maybe-"

"Homewrecker," Tina accused.

"What? I'm just answering the question," Finn protested.

"It's a weird question," Francey said. Blaine shrugged. "Okay, I'm bored with this game. I vote for a movie. And pajamas."

"Does this mean I can wash the crap off of my face?" Sam asked eagerly.

Quinn waved her hand. "Go, go, do it now," she said. Sam bolted.

Blaine leaned close to Kurt as the others moved towards their duffel bags and backpacks. "I'm only asking this because I want to be nice," he warned. "Do you want me to get your things?"

Kurt patted his knee. "I'll be fine," he said, pushing himself off the couch. "Thank you for asking, though."

Blaine let him limp out of the room without stopping him or attempting to help. He knew, probably better than anyone, how proud Kurt was. _Kurt doesn't need a babysitter, Kurt doesn't need a babysitter, _he told himself sternly as he trooped upstairs and changed into his Dalton Warblers tee shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants.

He headed back down to find everyone else sprawled around the living room, taking up all the available furniture and most of the floor space. Carefully he sidestepped Brittany and Mercedes and made his way back to the vacant couch as his sister argued with Puck and Finn over the movie choices.

"No. There is no way in hell that I'm watching a chick flick," Puck said, pushing the DVD back into Francey's hand. "No way. Get it away from me."

"He's right," Finn admitted. "Dirty Dancing is kind of a chick flick."

"Fine," Francey huffed. "Then we're watching Anchorman. And there's nothing you can say that can make me change my mind."

Puck shrugged. "Fine by me," he said.

Blaine settled on the couch, glancing every few seconds towards the hall every few seconds as the others settled into their sleeping bags and blankets between their friends and significant others. Francey hopped over a sprawled-out Mike and flipped off the overhead lights, leaving the lamps on to shed some light. "Be good, you guys," she warned.

"We will, will," Mercedes said, waving her hand dismissively.

Blaine rested his chin in his hand as the DVD remote popped up and Francey hit play. _Should I go look for him? _he wondered. _I hope he's okay. What if he's not okay?_

The couch cushions beside him shifted; he glanced up to see Kurt scooting in beside him. "Hi," he whispered, turning to make room.

"Hi yourself," Kurt whispered back. He wore a long sleeved tee shirt and a pair of thick sweatpants; Blaine drew him to his side as he scooted closer. "Now sh. Don't talk during the movie."

Blaine dropped his forehead to the top of Kurt's head and grinned, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. There was just something so comforting about having Kurt's warm body pressed up against him. He had never realized that he could feel this content, just like this.

Kurt leaned back against him, his back flush to Blaine's side as Blaine wrapped his arm around his stomach. Blaine stroked his thumb lightly at the soft smooth spot in the middle of Kurt's ribcage in a steady, soothing rhythm.

They had just reached the riot scene (with Tina and most of the guys quoting the dialogue loudly) when Kurt shivered. "What's wrong?" Blaine whispered in his ear. "Are you cold?" Kurt shrugged. Blaine leaned around him and picked up the throw blanket from the back of the couch and tossed it awkwardly over Kurt's long legs. Kurt visibly relaxed, smoothing the blanket up to his shoulders and burying himself deeper against Blaine's side. Blaine leaned closer and kissed the side of Kurt's neck.

The movie was nearly over when Francey launched herself off the armchair and paused the DVD. "What gives, girl, we were almost done!" Artie demanded.

Francey fumbled with the remote. "Dumbass, it's almost midnight," she retorted. "We have to watch the ball drop. We have to watch the ball drop!"

"Fine, fine, we'll watch the ball drop, keep your panties on," Santana said, rolling her eyes.

Francey ignored her and flipped over to the New Year's Eve show. Blaine sat up a little, pulling Kurt closer. "Hey," he whispered in Kurt's ear. "Do you want to kiss at midnight?"

Kurt twisted around to look at him. "Are you insane?" he whispered back.

"I was just-" Blaine stammered.

Kurt smiled and shook his head. "Of course I want to kiss you at midnight," he said.

Blaine relaxed, keeping his arm tight around Kurt's waist. "Well, then, sir," he grinned. "Prepare yourself."

"Oh, hold up, the ball's about to drop," Tina said, sliding forward in her seat. "Ten…nine…eight…"

Kurt leaned closer to Blaine, touching the tips of their noses lightly. "Love you," he whispered.

"…seven…six…five…"

"Love you too," Blaine whispered back, smiling so broadly it nearly hurt.

"…four…three…two.."

Kurt closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips as he pursed them slightly. Blaine could feel his warm breath against his cheek.

"…one! Happy New Year!"

Blaine touched his lips to Kurt's, drawing him into a soft warm kiss. Kurt kissed him back as his hands slid up to rest against Blaine's chest. "Happy New Year," Blaine whispered into his mouth.

"Oh, shit, everyone stop!" Francey exclaimed. "Shit, I don't have anyone to kiss on New Year's! Shit! I'm going to have bad luck all year now! Shit! Someone kiss me!"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Calm your tits, girl, I didn't kiss anyone and you don't see me flipping out," she said.

"It's midnight, somebody kiss me!" Francey demanded, flailing her hands. Kurt sighed and beckoned to her. "What? What do you want?"

Kurt leaned over and pecked her on the lips. "There. Now will you shut up?" he said, exasperated.

"Yes, thank you," Francey said, satisfied. She leaned over and kissed him on the nose. "All right, now that you've saved me from a year of bad luck, you may resume snuggling with your boyfriend."

Blaine started. Beside him, he felt Kurt freeze.

_Boyfriends._

Were they…were they really boyfriends?

Oh, god. He had a boyfriend.

Maybe.

He had spent most of his teenage years waiting for some elusive significant other to waltz into his life. Usually in his daydreams it meant some tall, vague, faceless stranger. But now…

_Kurt was his boyfriend._

He started to reach for Kurt, to draw him back to him, to hold onto him tightly and make sure that he wasn't dreaming, he wasn't going to slip away, but just as his fingers reached out to brush his sleeve, Finn stood up and held out his hand. "Hey, Kurt, you know the deal," he said. "Mom and Burt said you could come as long as you went to bad at midnight and got some actual sleep."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but his expression clearly stated _I would be bitchy, but that requires too much energy. _"Fine," he sighed, taking Finn's hand and struggling to his feet. Blaine closed his fingers and dropped his hand to his lap. "Blaine, would it be okay if I slept in your room? It'll be quieter."

"Oh," Blaine said. "Yeah. Sure." He shook his head. "Yeah, definitely."

Kurt stood up and let go of Finn's hand, offering a beauty queen wave. "It's been a pleasure welcoming the New Year with you, but I'm afraid my beauty sleeps trumps staying up till the wee hours," he said.

Mercedes threw a kernel of popcorn at him. "You always do this," she accused. "Every time we have a sleepover, you always conk out first."

Kurt shrugged. "How else am I supposed to maintain my flawless complexion?" he asked. He crouched down to kiss her on the cheek, bracing himself on the arm of the couch. "Night, Mercedes."

"Night, Kurt," Puck said, offering a dismissive wave. "Hey, Blaine's sister, turn the movie back on. We're at the good part."

The others called out their goodnights as Kurt waved back and turned to walk stiffly down the hall. Blaine watched him go, his thoughts miles away from the movie as the others turned their attention back to the television.

They had finished Anchorman and moved on to Dirty Dancing (after the girls voted down The Legend of Ricky Bobby, Blades of Glory, and The Hangover) when the thought finally popped into his head.

_I should go up and check on him._

The thought danced around his head, taunting him while the others enjoyed the movie. All he could think about was creeping up to his room, cracking the door open, and peeking inside. Kurt would be fast asleep, snuggled under layers of blankets, peaceful and quiet, breathing slow and deep. Maybe he could even sneak inside and sit beside him, maybe even stroke his hair back from his forehead and admire how incredibly beautiful his boyfriend was.

If they were boyfriends.

And with his luck, Kurt would wake up and be totally creeped out.

But the thought wouldn't leave him alone, and around the time that Baby and Johnny Castle were driving off to perform at that club, he tiptoed out of the living room before he could talk himself out of it. From long habit he skipped the creaky step at the bottom of the stairs and made his way up to his room, his heart beating a little quicker than it ought.

He carefully tapped his bedroom door open, expecting to find Kurt fast asleep in the dark, but instead he stumbled into a warm circle of light cast from his bedside lamp. "Oh," he said stupidly. "Hi. Sorry."

Kurt glanced up, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. "I couldn't sleep," he confessed. He bit his lip. "I…don't really sleep well alone. Or in strange beds."

Blaine smiled and slipped into the room. "What are you reading?" he asked.

Kurt marked his page with his finger and held it up so Blaine could see the cover. "You have a copy of Wizard of Oz," he said. "I couldn't say no."

Blaine slid his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. "Let me guess," he smiled. "It's your favorite childhood book. Your parents used to read it to you every night before bed. You used to run around the house clicking your heels together."

"Actually, I didn't like the Wizard of Oz when I was little. Flying monkeys. Gave me nightmares," Kurt said, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "Peter Pan was my personal favorite bedtime story."

"Always an excellent choice," Blaine said, sidling up to the side of the bed. "May I?"

Kurt set the book aside and scooted over to make room for Blaine, holding up the blankets. Blaine slid in beside him. "So was the Wizard of Oz your favorite book?" he inquired. "Your copy looks quite well loved."

"Oh, I liked that one all right," Blaine said, folding his arms. "I usually preferred one of the Narnia books, though, to be honest."

Kurt smiled, then ducked his head, twisting his fingertips together in his lap. "Hey," he said softly.

Blaine lightly nudged his shoulder. "Hey what?" he asked.

Kurt stared down at his knees. "What are we?" he asked.

Blaine turned around to face him. "Wh…what do you mean?" he asked.

"You know," Kurt said, shrugging "Are we…are we dating, or just seeing each other or…or…"

"Whoa," Blaine said. He slid his hand over Kurt's forearm. "Whoa. Okay. Well, what do you think is going on? Because so far…we've kissed. We've said the 'l' word. And we said it before we did anything else, I might add."

Kurt's fingers crept up to tangle in Blaine's. "Do you think…we could be boyfriends?" he ventured.

Blaine squeezed his fingers back. "I would love to be your boyfriend," he said.

Kurt glanced back at him, his lips lifting into a smile. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Well, then." He nestled closer. "Hello, boyfriend."

"Hello, yourself," Blaine grinned, leaning in to kiss Kurt. He squeezed Kurt's- his _boyfriend's_- hand while they kissed, until Kurt suddenly yawned right into his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry," Kurt apologized, leaning back and covering his lips. "Sorry."

Blaine laughed. "Don't apologize," he said, chucking Kurt lightly under the chin. "You're tired. You should sleep."

Kurt leaned over and rested his chin on Blaine's shoulder, looking at him under his lashes. "Stay with me till I fall asleep?" he asked.

Blaine kissed the tip of his nose. "Of course," he said. "Lie down."

He leaned over and switched the lamp off as Kurt carefully eased himself down to the bed. "I hate lying on my back," Kurt grumbled. "It's just not comfortable." He shifted slightly as he tugged off his reading glasses and dropped them on the nightstand. "I'm never breaking my ribs again."

"Yeah, it would be nice if you could avoid that," Blaine grinned. He laid down on his back beside Kurt, reaching down to take him by the hand, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, babe."

Kurt smiled, his eyes catching pale blue in the faint moonlight through the blinds. "'Night," he said sleepily, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he closed his eyes.

Blaine rubbed his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand, debating mentally over whether or not he could coerce him into some sleepy kisses, until he heard the soft sound of Kurt snoring lightly. He glanced over to see Kurt drooping to the side of his pillow, his mouth open, and smiled.

"I love you," he murmured, scooting over to kiss Kurt softly on the cheek. His only answer was Kurt's deep, steady breathing.

The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to faint sunlight filtering through the blinds and a warm, heavy weight resting across his chest. He stifled a yawn and glanced down at Kurt, sprawled out against him with one arm splayed out. Blaine shifted slightly, easing Kurt back down to the mattress without rousing him.

Kurt slept deeply, his chest rising and falling steadily in soft shallow breaths. Blaine propped himself up on his elbow and smiled sleepily down at him, memorizing all the little things that made up his boyfriend- the faint freckles on his cheeks and nose, the thickness of his lashes, the way his lips parted as he breathed, his soft hair falling across his forehead. He smiled, trailing one fingertip lightly down the slope of Kurt's nose and the fullness of his bottom lip and the strong line of his jaw.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

Kurt scrunched up his face a little bit in his sleep, as if Blaine's fingertip tickled him; Blaine laughed silently before bending over him to kiss his forehead.

He paused. For some reason he could smell breakfast, and that didn't bode well. That meant that Francey had decided to try her hand at cooking, and he knew from experience that that would never end well.

Gingerly he eased out of the bed, trying not to jostle Kurt too much. Luckily his boyfriend still slept soundly, only sighing faintly as Blaine's warmth left his side. Blaine leaned over him and tucked the blankets around him snugly before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He tiptoed down the stairs to find the boys of New Directions, as well as Wes and David, sprawled across the living room in sleeping bags and blankets, several of them snoring loudly. Cautiously he crept past them into the kitchen.

He found Quinn standing by the stove, barefoot and dressed in an oversized Star Wars tee shirt paired with red cheerleading shorts, her hair drawn up in an elegantly messy ponytail. "Hey," he said, his voice still slightly creaky from sleep.

"Morning," she said, crossing from the stove to the counter. "Sleep well?"

"I did," he said. He eyed the countertop- the full mixing bowl, the package of bacon, the half-diced fruit, the carton of eggs. "Did you just feel like making breakfast?"

"I don't sleep much, and your sister said she didn't mind if I took over the kitchen," she said. "Since you're up, do you mind chopping the fruit?"

"Not at all," he said, picking up the knife as she poured buttermilk into the bowl. They worked in companionable silence for a moment, as he diced fruit into a glass bowl and she pressed out biscuits.

"So," she said at last. "You and Kurt. Are you dating?"

He took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "I am Kurt's boyfriend."

She dropped a small circle of biscuit dough on the cookie sheet and brushed off her floury hands over the sink. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.

"About being his boyfriend?" he said. "Yes. Yes, of course I am."

She slid the cookie sheet into the oven and twirled the dial. "So you really think that, right now, it's in Kurt's best interests for him to have a boyfriend?" she asked.

"He seems to think so," Blaine said. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he sliced strawberries.

"That's because Kurt has always wanted a boyfriend," Quinn said, dropping the mixing bowl in the sink and rinsing it out. "And he's been in love with you for months. Of course he would agree to date you."

Blaine mentally filed the _he's been in love with you for months_ for a later date and brushed a stray curl off his forehead with the back of his hand. "You know, he asked me to be his boyfriend," he said. "I was the one who said yes."

Quinn crossed over to him and pushed a carton of grapes towards him. "Dice these," she said. She sighed. "Look, I don't think you understand what a big deal this is. Kurt was ours before he was yours. We're a bit…protective of him. Especially now. Everyone can tell he's still bad off, even if he tries to pretend otherwise."

"I can understand Finn and Mercedes being protective of him," Blaine said. "Why you?"

Quinn turned her attention to the carton of eggs and began to crack them into a glass bowl, slow and methodical. "I got pregnant last year," she said bluntly. "It was…an accident, and a huge mistake, but I didn't…I didn't want to just…" She took a deep breath. Blaine kept his eyes down on the fruit he was slicing. "The whole school found out. And the glee club…the glee club, they were all supportive, but my parents…weren't. They kicked me out of the house."

She threw a broken eggshell into the garbage disposal; it shattered viciously. Blaine braced himself against the counter. "The first day I went to school after that…everyone knew. Everyone kept staring at me, judging me, pitying me," she said, her voice tight. "It was between classes, and I had gone into the bathroom because of the morning sickness…oh, god, the morning sickness…and I was sitting on the floor, feeling more miserable than I ever had in my life, and Kurt…Kurt walks in, and sits on the edge of the sinks, and all he says was 'my mom was your age when she had me'."

Blaine glanced at her over his shoulder. She stirred the eggs with a whisk, her head down. "He stayed by me the whole time I was pregnant," she said. "And at the end of the summer, when I lost all my baby weight, he took me shopping in celebration. We walked all over the mall. And then…this woman walks by. With a stroller. And she had…she had the most adorable little girl. Golden hair, and brown eyes, and a smile that just…"

Blaine set the knife down quietly. Quinn stood in front of the stove, eyes closed, her fingertips pressed to the bridge of her nose. "I lost it," she confessed quietly. "I started sobbing. And Kurt…took me by the hand, and dragged me into a dressing room, and I bawled on his shoulder." She swiped at her eyes quickly and picked up the whisk. "See, that's why we're protective of Kurt. He's the sort of person that will hold you while you cry in the middle of a Forever 21 and never say a word to judge you. And that sort of person needs to be protected."

Blaine swallowed hard, attempting to come up with a response that would come even slightly close to Quinn's confession. "I know," he said lamely. "Kurt is…is so special. I can't even describe him."

"He didn't deserve any of this, you know," she said, dumping the egg mixture into a large skillet. "This should have happened to someone else. Anyone else. He's gone through enough already."

"I know," Blaine said again. "And it's not over." His chest tightened, that same familiar lump rising in his throat, his heartbeat picking up and racing. He felt like this every time he felt compelled to explain his own story to someone else. "He's got more to go through. There's…there's the physical stuff, his body trying to heal from his injuries. And going through therapy, and having to relive that same damn night over and over again while a sympathetic doctor stares and hands him tissues. And learning to not jump at loud noises, or panic when someone moves too quickly." He took a deep breath, remembering Kurt gazing at him the night before, looking small and young under the blankets. "Or learning that he'll be okay if he sleeps alone."

He picked up a handful of green grapes and dumped them into a glass bowl, then turned to catch Quinn eyeing him carefully. "I know a little bit about what Kurt's going through," he said.

She didn't press him for details. Instead, she crossed to his side of the counter and picked up the empty carton. "Then you'll take care of him," she said softly. He nodded. She squeezed his forearm.

Francey padded into the kitchen, long curls in wild disarray as she surveyed them through half-lidded eyes. "Morning, children," she said. "Mm. Breakfast." She threw her arms around Blaine's neck from behind. "Coffee. Where's coffee?"

"You're a big girl, make it yourself," he grinned.

She pushed herself away and spanked him lightly. "Bitch," she yawned, fumbling in the cabinets for the can of Foldgers. "So. Breakfast soon?"

"It's just about ready," Quinn said with a smile, peeking into the oven to check on the biscuits. "I think I made enough for everyone."

"Eh, if there's not enough, we can eat pop tarts," Francey said. She glanced back towards the living room. "And now, as the scent of bacon wafts through the house, the boys are beginning to wake."

Sure enough, Mike and Sam stumbled into the kitchen. "Breakfast," Mike mumbled, plunking down on a barstool. "Oh god. So hungry."

Sam draped himself over Quinn. "You cook things," he said. "I'm keeping you."

She swatted at his hands, clasped over her waist. "Step back or you'll get burned," she warned.

"You're wearing my shirt," he singsonged, nibbling at her shoulder. "You're wearing my shi-irt."

"Ah, young love," Francey grinned as she dumped coffee grounds into the filter. "So, Blaine, when can I expect you to start coming home in Kurt's clothing?"

Blaine grabbed the canister from his sister. "Too much, too much, too much," he scolded, scooping some of the coffee out of the filter and back in the can. "You're making coffee, not paint thinner." He sealed the lid and stuck it back in the cabinet. "And I don't know the answer to that question. But I should probably go up and see if he's awake enough to eat something."

"Oh, god, she made biscuits," Mike murmured, his head resting on his arms as one hand reached out ineffectively for the hot cookie sheet Quinn was pulling out of the oven.

"If you wanted to find Kurt, I'm way ahead of you," Puck grinned, strolling into the kitchen.

"Whas gon' on?" Kurt mumbled.

"I think Noah carried you piggyback down the stairs," Francey informed him.

Kurt frowned. His arms were draped around Puck's neck and his cheek was pressed against his broad shoulder. "Oh," he said.

"I figured somebody should probably get him," Puck said, looking immensely pleased with himself. "But seriously, dude, you should probably get down. You're all skinny and stuff, but your legs are way too long."

Blaine set down the knife and walked over, wiping his hands on his pajama pants. "I've got him," he said, holding out his arms. Puck slid Kurt carefully to the floor; the shorter brunet wavered a little and blinked sleepily. Blaine tucked an arm around his waist. "Come on. Let's get you back to the couch."

Kurt sagged into him as Blaine walked him into the living room and made him sit down. "Mmph. Sleepy," Kurt complained.

Blaine grinned and curled up next to him, tugging Kurt closer so he was lying between his legs. "And you get crabby when you're tired, don't you?" he said.

"Not a morning person," Kurt protested.

"Yeah, I can tell," Blaine said, pulling the blanket back over both of them. He kissed the top of Kurt's head. "Good morning, boyfriend."

Kurt looked up and smiled sleepily. "Morning, boyfriend," he echoed. "I'd kiss you, but I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"That's okay," Blaine said, dropping light kisses over his cheek. Kurt curled into him, warm and cuddly and sleepy, and closed his eyes. Blaine ran his hand up and down his back, content to listen to Finn snoring across the room and feel the rise and fall of Kurt's breathing.

Quinn poked her head into the living room. "Breakfast is ready," she said. "Kurt, do you want me to get you some?"

"Mmkay," Kurt said, burrowing deeper into Blaine's chest, mostly asleep already.

Blane smoothed Kurt's hair and looked up to see Quinn sort of smiling at him. Their eyes met. She nodded, and disappeared from the room.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

OH MY GOD, DOES ANYONE EVEN REMEMBER THIS STORY?

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. Saying things have been crazy lately would be an understatement, and on top of that, my writing muse could not be harnessed properly for KGI purposes. Plus, this chapter is just...oddly formatted. But it is here, and I hope you like it!

I'm pretty sure I want to go back and edit the first half of the story so that Blaine's parents are Hal and Bev, the exquisite original characters created by Gilly, aka aspiringtoeloquence, but I don't know. I'm just not sure. Any ideas?

I'm going to write a oneshot about Kurt and Quinn.

And also, I am now craving biscuits.

I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER! LET ME KNOW IF YOU DID! Or...didn't...I guess...


End file.
